The Copy Ninja
by Hidden-Village
Summary: When Kakashi runs afoul of a jutsu that messes up jutsu, no one is sure which is the real thing, and which is the shadow clone. Not even Kakashi.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Copy Ninja

Author: JBMcDragon

Rating: PG-13 for innuendo and the occasional curse word. The epilogue, which has a much higher rating, will be posted on my LJ at jbmcdragon[dot]livejournal[dot]com.

Status: Written, will be posted once a week over the next 7.

Genre: Drama, I guess, with a heavy dose of comedy and sarcasm. KakaIru.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters, nor am I making any money off of them. They belong to Kishimoto, to my knowledge, or maybe Toykopop or something. Just not me. Used without permission, and not for profit.

Summary:

Never has the term 'Copy Ninja' been so appropriate.

Wandering home from a mission to copy a jutsu that makes other jutsu go wrong, Kakashi is pretty sure the world is out to get him. Imagine his surprise when he learns he's already been home for a full twenty-four hours. Except it's not him--it's a clone gone wrong. But when it doesn't vanish at injury, thinks of things even before he does, and not even Pakkun can tell the difference... Well, who's to say which is a clone, and which is the real thing?

Finding himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, Iruka is saddled with a ninja that might be a clone. Mind you, an earlier drunken mistake led to great sex and an awful morning after; being a clone would be Kakashi's just desserts, in his opinion. But as they spend time in each other's company, he realizes that he'd be sorry to see this Kakashi go--and certain the man is going to.

How do you fight the facts when they're stacked against you? Not even a genius is sure of that answer.

Author's notes: Cross posted like whoa. This is written in celebration of finally becoming a published author! If you enjoy it, check out jbmcdonald[dot]com. I have one book published, and several more on the way! HOORAY! Also, if you're wondering where I've gotten off to, I've joined the collaborative writing group Fallen Leaves at insanejournal[dot]com[slash]fallen_leaves, where I'm writing Inuzuka Tsume and Morioka Kaito. The stories there are fantastic. And I'm totally unbiased, really. ;-D

JB

The Copy Ninja

1/6

Kakashi dragged himself back into the village, cursing the mission gods--he figured there had to be at least a dozen of those--for the worst fuck-up _ever_. Still, it was over now, and all he had to do was turn in a mission report--scratched out over the last few nights on the road--and go _home_. Home sounded good.

The mission office came first, if only because he actually got to it first. Otherwise he'd have to go back later, retracing his steps, and it wasn't that he liked annoying people by being late. He was just, plain and simply, lazy. It was much more work to have to come back.

He ambled into the building--it was surprising what aches and pains ambling could hide--and wandered into the main office. Wandering was almost as good as ambling for aches and pains.

There was only one staff member in the office, but given the hour--late--that was to be expected. The chuunin behind the desk, a man nearly Kakashi's height (taller, when Kakashi slouched), looked up absently.

Then looked up farther, a lot more sharply. Black eyebrows shot toward black hair scraped back into a ponytail. Then those same eyebrows rocketed down, bunching above the bridge of his very straight nose.

"What do _you_ want?" he nearly snapped.

Kakashi stopped in the doorway, turning to look behind himself with purposeful care. There was no one there. He already knew there was no one there. He turned and looked back at the man.

He'd seen this ninja before. Here, at the mission office. Something to do with Team Seven, too, but... it eluded him. Square built, shinobi-fit, snapping black eyes.

Kakashi beamed cheerfully. "I want bed. Maybe dinner. But I'll settle for turning in a mission report."

Even tanned skin could flush; it just turned dark red instead of bright pink. The man behind the desk stood, stacking papers with quick, sharp movements. "Dinner and bed. Go to hell. Office is closed. Turn it in tomorrow."

The masked smile faded. The office was not _closed._ It didn't close! "Or," Kakashi drawled, slouching even more, "you can do your job, and I can turn it in tonight." He held up his scroll (form 32B), and waved it around. "You know you want to. It'll do your little secretarial heart good."

The chuunin--had to be a chuunin, moved too well for a genin--snapped. The files he was holding landed on the desk with a sharp crack of air. "You are a piece of work! First you treat me like shit, now you waltz in here with your snide comments and innuendo? No! Get out!"

He hadn't made snide--! The world was just getting weirder, and an awful suspicion was tickling the back of his mind. "While I would agree that, in general, I am a piece of work, and I do often make snide comments and innuendo, I'm pretty sure I haven't recently done that to you." He smiled. "At least not that I remember. Maybe it wasn't that eventful." It was, sad to say, a distinct possibility. So many people to annoy, so little time... "Regardless, I'd like to turn in my mission report." He waggled it again.

"You can take your mission report and shove it up your ass."

"That would be painful."

The chuunin continued as if Kakashi hadn't spoken. "I may have been drunk, but your behavior was _inexcusable_." He flipped through the files, grabbed one from the middle and two from the top, and marched around the desk. "Fuck off," he snarled, and marched out the door.

Kakashi stood in the office by himself, headache building. He really didn't need this right now. Setting his report down on the empty desk, he turned and dragged himself toward his apartment.

**

It should have been a simple mission, really. Or simple for the Copy Ninja. Find the Mist nin that had been plaguing the outlying villages, copy the jutsu that had been stopping other ninja from killing him, and come home. He didn't even have to _engage_ the bastard, if he played his cards right. And, right up until the last day, his cards had been a royal flush. He'd arrived as another pair of shinobi had; two hunters from Mist, determined to take out their joker. Perfect.

He hadn't quite fathomed how much the renegade was screwing things up, though.

It had seemed prudent to remain hidden. Kakashi had formed chakra while the ninja were distracted with each other, pulling up a perfect replica of himself--what a shadow clone was to a normal clone, really. Something with his own personality, his own abilities. It halved his chakra to do so, but it would be worth it. Shadow clones vanished too easily; he needed something that would last through a fight, getting enough information to be useful when it came back to him. Besides which, it needed enough power and chakra to activate and use the Sharingan.

Two sets of eyes were more likely to catch all the chakra patterns and seals needed for this new jutsu.

And then... well, then things had gotten interesting. When talking to the missing nin didn't work, the Mist hunters attacked. They threw jutsu at him; wind elements and earth elements, causing enough damage to keep Kakashi moving to stay clear. Thankfully, they were making enough noise to hide an avalanche; he only had to worry about speed, not stealth. It was nice when enemy ninja made his job easier.

At first, he thought they were the most inept ninja he'd ever seen. Their jutsu kept going wrong, turning back on them or collapsing altogether. The missing nin wasn't idle, either; in the chaos they were creating, every strike he made connected. In the chaos they were creating, Kakashi kept his Sharingan eye open but paid little attention to what he was seeing. It was all he could do to stay one leap ahead of accidental death.

The battle moved hard and fast, tearing through rock and trees and into fields as the hunters fell. The last hunter put up a good effort, but the unnatural fire dragon he wrought from thin air twisted and blasted back, screaming out of control.

A simple transportational jutsu should have gotten Kakashi easily away. He formed the seals, formed the chakra--

And found himself fifty feet away, yes, but upside down and dropping toward the earth at an accelerated rate.

By the time he'd regained consciousness, the two hunters were dead and the missing nin was nowhere to be found. He _knew_ he hadn't mucked up a simple transportational jutsu. It wasn't until he was heading home, though, Sharingan eye closed and replaying what it had etched into his memory, that he realized.

It was simple. Brilliant, and simple. The missing nin had made a chakra distortion wave. In the final stages of any jutsu, it simply... twisted. The fact that Kakashi had gotten caught in it--the only explanation for transporting badly--meant that it was area-specific, not target-specific. Not something you could use with teammates around, unless they'd been told to expect it, but he took enough solo missions... It didn't last very long. The ninja had had to recast it every few minutes--but it seemed to take a minimum of chakra.

Of course, a shiny new jutsu didn't make his head or body ache any less. Didn't magically heal the burns across one shoulder, or the shrapnel tears in his left leg. Or alter the fact that he'd lost a full day to unconsciousness, and was weak and woozy from dehydration. Water, rations, solider pills and bandages took care of the worst of it.

He replayed the jutsu all the way home.

**

Somehow, the distance from the mission office to his apartment seemed even longer than the distance from the missing nin to the village. He should probably go to the hospital; burns were nothing to be trifled with. But he'd gotten the shrapnel out of his leg in the field, and even stitched the worst of the injuries closed. He had balm and bandages in his bathroom, and if the pain got too bad he could always go find a doctor then. Get a lecture and some medication, and sleep it all off.

Sleep sounded the best.

He unkeyed the seals around his door with a flare of chakra, stepped inside--

And froze.

He was in his kitchen.

He looked up from the sink, chest bare, bandages around his torso, wearing neither mask nor hitai-ate, and frowned.

It was a little disturbing to see how expressive his face really was. Kakashi blamed the exhaustion and injuries for why he hadn't attacked yet, but... even his chakra told him it wasn't an intruder. It told him there was no one there at all, actually. Just him.

He performed a kai. The him at the sink smirked. "Don't tell me," him-at-the-sink said. "My shadow-clone."

One of Kakashi's eyebrows lifted. Of course. Jutsu had been going wrong. If the missing nin had cast that before they'd even started fighting... Kakashi sighed. "Well. Aren't I a handsome devil."

Kakashi-in-the-kitchen's smirk grew. "But I already knew that. Now, why don't you unform yourself and come home?"

Kakashi frowned, mostly because he'd been about to say almost exactly the same thing--hopefully with a less supercilious tone--and it was annoying to be so predictable. "Me? I'm not the clone, here. Can't you tell?"

Him-at-the-sink lifted a single silver eyebrow, Sharingan whirling under a half-lidded eye with lazy boredom. "Having visions of grandeur, are we? There's one way to solve this." Nearly too fast to track, Kakashi-in-the-kitchen flipped his knife and hurled it.

Kakashi dodged, sliding to a stop as he whipped his hands through seals.

"Relax," Kakashi-in-the-kitchen drawled. "You'll just poof away." He'd already picked up another knife.

"I've already been injured, thanks." He formed the last of the seals and--before he could consider the damage to his apartment--blew fire at the doppleganger.

"So have I." The voice came from behind him. The man was _flickering_? Obviously, it remembered its sensei's--_his_ sensei's--jutsu just fine. Kakashi twisted and shot the last of the flames in an arc, ending aimed at the clone.

"Buddha's balls, Kakashi!" someone yelped from the hall. "You trying to flambe the carpeting? I know it's ugly, but--"

The clone was gone. It couldn't have transported far. Kakashi let his chakra expand, feeling for anything different--except it wasn't different, and he wouldn't feel it. It could be anywhere, and halfway out of the village by now. "Damn it," Kakashi muttered. At least it didn't seem inclined toward doing something nasty--if it thought it was him, it wouldn't hurt the village.

Or maybe that was the exhaustion making up an excuse as to why he didn't need to take off after a creature he'd be unlikely to find. He didn't care. Bonelessly, he dropped back into a chair. Little bits of fire licked around, catching hold in the aforementioned ugly carpeting and on the bare cream walls.

Anko popped her head around the corner, eyebrows rising. "Redecorating?"

He covered his face with his hands. His big toe hurt. "I have a problem," he muttered from within mask and under palms.

"Uh huh. Starting with having to clean up chakra-suppressant fire retardant."

"What?" He dragged his hands away from his face just as Anko sprayed the fire extinguisher at the jutsu flames that were slowly growing. He cringed. "Okay, _two_ problems."

**

"That was some pretty good sex we had, wasn't it?"

Iruka nearly dropped his wok, in the process of transferring stir fry from it to a plate for a late, after-work dinner. Instead of dropping it, though, he whipped around and hurled it at the shape in his window.

The Copy Ninja ducked. Too bad.

Even worse, the stir fry went sailing into the alley blow. Damn it. "What do _you_ want?" he nearly snarled.

Kakashi looked thoughtful. Without his mask--he was only wearing pants and bandages, which Iruka would have thought was odd if he'd been calm enough to think anything--it was easy to tell 'thoughtful' from 'asshole.' 'Asshole' was, of course, the man's usual expression. "To be named Kage of the world," Kakashi said finally. "And pie."

It was hard to stay angry at someone who made _no sense._ "Pie?"

"Fruit pie. Has sweet, sweet filling, comes in a crust? I'm partial to cherry, myself."

Sense or no, Iruka started looking for something else to throw. Wait! Not his plates. Those were expensive. He grabbed up the metal tea kettle instead. It had been a five dollar bin special.

"I need your help, Ruka-kun."

Kakashi had moved. The voice was right next to Iruka's ear. He didn't bother trying to spot the man, just swung as hard as he could.

A strong hand caught his wrist, squeezing the tendons until his hand went numb and the kettle clattered to the ground. "You're hurting my feelings." Kakashi was _pouting_. He had a remarkably full lip when he wanted to.

Iruka glared. "You're hurting my arm."

The Copy Ninja let go, turning to hop up onto the counter with a bright smile. It showed off his teeth; canines slightly too large, the bottom just a hair overlapping. The night before, Iruka had thought it was an utterly charming grin. Took ten years off Kakashi's age. Now, he wished he could bash those crooked teeth into that jackass mouth.

"While I was on my last mission," Kakashi began, "I created a shadow clone."

"Good for you. I'm sure it was a first."

Kakashi kept speaking, just like he'd done earlier in the mission office. "Not just any normal shadow clone, but a heavily detailed one. Sharingan trick, you see. One that thinks it's me, apparently. The jutsu I was studying makes other jutsu go wrong. Including mine."

"Poor thing." There was a distinct lack of sympathy in Iruka's voice.

Kakashi kept talking. "I broke the clone jutsu, but it didn't go away. Now it's back, and it thinks it's the real me."

"So stab it and it'll poof." Damn it, no. He wasn't going to get involved in this, no matter how interesting--and utterly bizarre--it sounded.

"Can't. It's been injured. I think I need to talk to the hokage."

"Then why are you _here_?" He picked the kettle back up and slammed it down on the stove. When he turned around, Kakashi was right behind him.

"Because you know I got here last night. You're my star witness."

Iruka leaned back to get a better look at the too-close face. "I'd rather like to see you dead."

Kakashi beamed. "Exactly. That's plenty good enough." Then he grabbed hold of Iruka's wrist and with a yank of chakra, teleported them both out.

**

"Found the shadow clone, Tsunade!" Aoba turned the corner, followed by a haggard looking Kakashi and, behind him, Anko.

"I'm _not_ a shadow clone." Kakashi didn't quite sigh, but it was a close thing. He nodded at the other Kakashi standing in her office. "That's the shadow clone."

The first Kakashi to have arrived--shirtless and maskless--gave her a look that clearly suggested the poor thing was insane. To Tsunade's naked eye, they looked exactly the same.

"Right." Her tone was sharp; it was, after all, one a.m. "Both of you come here and hold out your arm." There was an easy way to solve this, and if the idea had come from an obviously jilted lover, she didn't mind at all.

Iruka was glowering in the corner, arms folded over his chest, a pretty purple bruise forming around one wrist. Anko, who'd accompanied the possible-shadow clone, approached him. Both Kakashis walked to the desk, giving each other suspicious looks.

Tsunade picked up a kunai as they drew close. Steel gleamed dully in the light from the corner lamp. Aoba stood by the door. Izumo walked in and placed himself by the window. If either Kakashi tried to escape--well, they could at least slow him down.

The clothed Kakashi held his arm out like he was sliced by a kunai every day. It probably wasn't far from the truth.

The half naked Kakashi stuck his arm out as if proving he wasn't afraid--wasn't the clone.

A scratch wasn't enough to dispel a really good shadow clone, but a cut deep enough to need stitches would. She grabbed clothed-Kakashi's wrist in an unbreakable grip, pulling his arm out farther. He still looked bored. The blade of the kunai cut cleanly through his shirt and flesh, through muscle. Under his mask she saw his jaw tighten, and beneath her fingers tendons stood rock-hard. But he didn't vanish.

Which meant, then... Before the other could run she grabbed his wrist and sliced across his arm.

Blood spattered. He didn't vanish either.

"Tsunade-sama, that was downright rough. I almost think you like him better." His maskless face looked truly injured.

"Now what?" Anko asked from her corner, where she'd stopped whispering with Iruka to watch.

Shizune stepped forward with a topical anesthetization and sprayed it across both injuries before she started stitching the clothed one's cut.

"Now I have to buy a new shirt," he said unhappily. "You couldn't have just asked what injuries we'd already gotten?"

She shrugged. "Tell me what happened."

**

Kakashi stood in the rapidly filling room, glowering at the shirtless shadow clone that was refusing to say he was a shadow clone. He'd relayed the story just as he'd remembered it, only to learn that the shadow clone had told the same story--except he'd stayed out of the way better, and hadn't been knocked unconscious. He'd arrived here the day before and even turned in a mission report. He had a witness, and he'd gone to the hokage first--his story sounded good.

"If I were a shadow clone," Kakashi pointed out, "I wouldn't have woken up from getting knocked out."

"In theory." Tsunade frowned. "You also would have puffed into smoke just now. Iruka, you slept with him. Did he look clone-y to you?"

Iruka--he'd been Team Seven's academy sensei, Kakashi remembered now. Pain the ass man.--looked from one Kakashi to the other. "Not that I could tell. Sorry, Tsunade-sama."

"If _I_ were a shadow clone," the half-naked Kakashi said, "I would have been good enough to avoid getting hit." He looked pointedly at Kakashi.

"Anko, you probably know him the best," Tsunade tried. "What--"

Anko shrugged, and pointed to clothed-Kakashi. "He acts like Kakashi." She pointed to the other. "He acts like Kakashi in a snit."

Tsunade pinched the bridge of her nose. Then, with a deep breath, she picked up a pot of ink and a brush, stalked to the half-naked Kakashi, and painted a seal on his chest. Even from several feet away, Kakashi could feel the chakra radiating out from the glossy ink.

"You," Tsunade began, "we'll call Hatake. Stay in the village until I figure this out." Then she marched to the clothed Kakashi and painted the same seal on the only bit of skin showing. He closed his good eye before she hit the iris itself, reminding himself not to recoil from his hokage. She really didn't need to be pissed off right now, not with his identity at stake. "You, we'll call Kakashi. Stay in the village."

"Yes, Hokage-sama," they said as one, and promptly glared at each other.

"Anko, Iruka, you have new missions." Tsunade set the ink well down with a neat click. "Keep one of them in sight at all times."

Anko straightened in alarm. "Tsunade, I'm supposed to leave tomorrow--"

"Not anymore."

"I have classes to teach--" Iruka nearly squalled.

"He can be a TA. Neither of them are to return to their apartment, except to collect clothing. Now, I'm going back to bed."

They watched as Tsunade left, trailed by Izumo and Shizune. Aoba looked at the four ninja still in the office. "I can't lock up until you get out."

Feeling a little bit defeated, they turned and walked out. In the hall, Iruka stopped--blocking all their paths--and pointed at Kakashi. "I want that Kakashi."

Anko looked at the pair. They looked back. "Why?"

"Because Hatake," his finger jabbed toward the half-dressed man he'd apparently slept with, "is an asshole."

Anko shrugged. "So's Kakashi."

Kakashi let his face fall into annoyed lines behind his mask, tucking his hands into his pockets. He looked, if possible, even more bland than usual. "I'm standing right here."

"And there, too," Anko quipped, patting his arm in a placatory gesture.

Iruka spoke as if Kakashi hadn't. "Yeah, well, I've slept with this Kakashi. I mean, Hakate. I'd rather stay with the other one."

"Do I get a vote?" Hakate asked. His hands were in his pockets, too. Kakashi glared at him.

"No," Iruka and Anko both answered.

"Want to try the set, huh?" Kakashi leered, though his heart wasn't really in it. It earned him a snorting laugh from Anko and a glare from Iruka.

"Don't think you're getting in my pants, too," the chuunin muttered.

Kakashi smiled brightly behind his mask. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Getting in his pants is more like a nightmare," Hatake said.

"Oh, gods. Sure, fine, take this one. Let's just get them apart." Anko put both hands on Kakashi's back and pushed him toward Iruka. It only worked because she nearly hit his burns, and he hopped forward to keep that from happening.

"Don't I get a choice in this?" he asked grumpily.

"Nope. Man, I just got yanked off a well-paid cush job because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I can make you unhappy, I will."

Kakashi thought about that. Then he smiled. "Take Hatake."

**

"Nice place." Which was a complete lie, really. Iruka's apartment was in an older area of the village, in a rundown little building that probably had all manner of vermin. It had a bedroom and a bathroom, which, he supposed, meant it was bigger than his own apartment. But his own apartment was, well, his. And Iruka's wasn't.

Iruka apparently didn't miss the undercurrent of sarcasm--or he was still annoyed about everything. He shot Kakashi a dirty look and locked the door behind them. "Teachers don't exactly make a lot of money."

"Oh? Are we talking about salaries now?"

For a moment, Kakashi thought the other man wasn't going to respond. Then Iruka turned, jabbing him in the chest with one finger. "I can't _wait_ until they decide one of you's a fake and _kill_ it."

"That makes two of us," Kakashi said dryly. He stepped away from the single digit, moving a little stiffly. "You are aware I didn't actually sleep with you, right? That I was, last night, still walking home?"

"Thank the gods. It was _horrible _sex anyway."

Tired as he was, Kakashi called up a sunny smile. "Well, there you are. Proof it wasn't me. Anyone will tell you I'm a brilliant sexual beast. Now, if you don't mind," he continued before Iruka could say any more. "I'm going to shower. And bed. But not yours! Don't worry. Since you're apparently terrible at sex, I'll keep my eyes on my book." Waving the book he'd pulled out of a pocket and listening to Iruka bellow that he was _phenomenal _in bed, thankyouverymuch, Kakashi turned and headed to the bathroom.

They'd stopped by his place to get fresh clothes and anything else he might need over the next day. He prayed it wouldn't take Tsunade more than that to fix this mess. With his small duffle in tow, he locked the bathroom door and sat down on the toilet lid. His shoulder was throbbing, his leg burning, and the neat row of stitches Shizune had put in were like a brand against his forearm. That didn't begin to include the list of minor aches--sore muscles and a blister on his right heel. Damn it.

Kakashi turned the water on and started to carefully strip out of his clothes. The bandages over his burns he left in place; they'd adhered to the lack of skin, and he was half afraid to try peeling them off. Standing still for a sharpened kunai blade was one thing. Taking gauze off crisped skin was something else entirely.

He stepped under barely luke-warm water and cringed anyway, quickly turning it to cold. Any heat made the burns sizzle worse along his skin; the rest of him would just have to suffer.

It didn't take long for the gauze to soak through and the pus to soften. Braced, Kakashi peeled the bandages off and tossed them toward the edge of the tiles. They landed with a quiet plop. He'd pick them up later.

Washing injuries came next. He had gotten very good at the times tables over the years. Most of them were useless as a distraction, now, but five thousand, three hundred and six still worked. He ran through it--twice--before he was sure everything was clean enough to not get infected. It was funny how self-inflicted pain could wear a man out. Shaking, it turned off the water and stepped onto the little mat. Pulling a jar of burn cream out of his duffel, he smeared it liberally over his shoulder, and once again added gauze. He should have asked Shizune for that topical anesthetic. Too late, now. He pulled a bottle of pain pills out, debated being sleepy over not hurting, and finally took two. If you couldn't trust not to be killed by an annoyed chuunin in the middle of the night, what could you trust?

Not a clone, apparently.

He pulled a shirt on--carefully--over bandages, then eyed his shrapnel-cut leg. That, at least, was less painful. He wrapped his thigh with several quick motions, tying off the length of clean cloth before stepping into flannel pants. With silver hair still damp from the shower, he grabbed his duffel and walked out into the main room.

Iruka was nowhere to be seen. The bedroom door was closed. Wearily, glad that the long day was over, Kakashi dropped onto the couch and slept.

**


	2. Chapter 2

For notes et al, see chapter one.

Chapter Two

Iruka stood in his living room, over the futon that hadn't been folded out, staring down at a sleeping Copy Ninja. The man hadn't put his mask back on. Flannel pants rode low on slim hips, his T-shirt riding up to show a sliver of skin as pale as moonlight against the black cloth.

Silver hair had faded to a cool white as it dried. Strands drifted around his face, soft and silky. He looked worn, and young without his mask. His skin was soft--Iruka knew that firsthand--and nearly unlined. There was the faintest hint of a suntan around his usually-visible eye, now painted over with Tsunade's black starburst-seal. The ink made him look younger still; a child playing with his father's symbols.

He looked peaceful. Handsome, with his lean jaw and faint lines at the corners of his mouth where he smiled--whether or not the expression was sincere.

With great relish, Iruka lifted up the mass of soggy bandages and let them drop on the Copy Ninja's chest.

Kakashi woke with deadly confusion, but that was all right. Iruka was already halfway across the room. "Next time you strip off disgusting pus-covered gauze, put it in the garbage, would you?"

Kakashi blinked, eyes slowly clearing. The Sharingan spun lazily. "Uh..." he looked down at the bandages that had fallen across his feet when he'd sat up and swung his legs over. "Sure."

Iruka smiled. "Time to wake up. I have school in twenty minutes."

As if he couldn't quite believe it, Kakashi looked out the window. Dawn painted a warm blush across the sky. "We didn't go to bed until three a.m.!" he protested.

"Right. And I have to teach at seven. Get up."

"No one is that masochistic. You were working at the mission desk last night--"

"Covering for a friend, and if you hadn't arrived and started all these problems I'd have gotten a solid six hours of sleep. Get up."

With a wounded expression on his oddly-young face, Kakashi scooped the bandages up and walked to the trashcan. Except 'walk' wasn't really the right word, Iruka considered. More like 'hobbled.' If his face looked young, his body sure didn't react that way. He looked like an old man with a bum knee--though by the time he reached the trashcan he'd worked out the kinks, and was at least walking normally, if not with his usual grace.

Iruka turned and went back into the bedroom to finish dressing. He only had twenty minutes.

**

Kakashi was more than aware that Iruka's class probably wasn't normally this subdue. Having introduced Kakashi as an elite jounin, Iruka had sat in him a chair in the corner. Eyes kept straying over to his slouched shape, as if at any moment he'd leap up and accuse them of cheating. He had much better things to do with his time.

Like close his eyes and nap.

_Six-thirty_. What sort of sick psycho volunteered to get up that early? No wonder Team Seven had always been so grumpy when he'd finally shown up. They'd been missing out on some key hours of blessed sleep. For _years_.

He did his best to sleep through recess, with children outside shouting and running and generally making a nuisance of themselves. He even managed to keep his eyes closed when he heard screaming. He almost managed the same when he heard Iruka call his name sharply, but toes to his shins popped him awake.

"What?"

"I have to take Kaito to the nurse's station. Recess is over. Watch the kids, would you?"

Kakashi eyed the room of children. "I'm not a teacher."

"You are now. Tsunade said to make you a Teacher's Aide. So teach them something."

Obviously, Iruka wasn't done being annoyed. Kakashi eyed the students. They eyed him back. Teach them something. Right.

**

"So you take the wiener," Iruka heard as he hurried back down the hall, his student discharged into worried parent's hands, "and you insert it down the crack, like so."

It was a long, long moment before the words penetrated. Which was, perhaps, a bad choice of phrase. Iruka remembered suddenly how Naruto used to complain at the things Kakashi taught them. He remembered Kakashi reading Icha Icha Paradise at the most inappropriate times. But surely the man wouldn't--

There was a chorus of giggles.

Iruka broke into a run, slamming through the door of his classroom.

Kakashi stood in front of the blackboard, chalk in one hand, a mangled drawing of a hotdog and a bun smeared across math problems. There were directional arrows.

"What are you _doing_?" Iruka snapped, relief that the kids weren't being taught an early sex ed overpowered by annoyance.

"Discussing the eating habits of other cultures. It's, uh, what did you say?" He pointed to a redheaded girl with pigtails.

She blushed. "Social studies, Kakashi-sensei!"

"There you are. Social studies." He beamed.

"And not something they really need to learn right now." Iruka snatched at the chalk, only becoming more livid when Kakashi yanked it out of reach. He wouldn't snatch again. Looking that weak in front of his student would incite a _riot_.

"It's teaching them good undercover skills. Right, everyone?"

"Yes, Kakashi-sensei!" they echoed back with great glee.

Iruka took a deep breath, and then another. If the brats _knew_ how tenuous his control over them really was, he'd never be able to teach again. And Kakashi, blast him, seemed to be delighting in undermining his authority. Well, Iruka wasn't going to help.

His back to the classroom, he narrowed his eyes and glared at the Copy Ninja. A chilly smiled graced his lips. "Give me the chalk."

Whatever Kakashi saw in his expression, it did the trick. The man handed the chalk back and sauntered to his corner, taking up his slouch once more.

Iruka turned to regard his classroom, gauging the damage done. None too bad--not if he re-asserted his position right away. His smile went from chilly to cheerful. "Pop quiz!"

The room resounded with groans. He clapped his hands to regain attention and felt instantly better.

**

Kakashi's day was made perfect when, upon going to the market for groceries, they ran into Anko and his shadow clone. The two Copy Ninja glared at each other while their respective partners ushered them away.

"That other one really is the clone," he muttered.

"Sure, sure. Keep walking."

Kakashi pulled himself upright and twisted to stare at the academy teacher. "It _is_. I should think I know one of my clones when I see it."

"What do you want to bet he's saying the same thing to Anko right now?"

Crowds parted as they strode down the sidewalk, exuding ninja grace that couldn't be feigned. In Konoha, even civilians recognized it and got out of the way. Much of that grace, however, was absent as Kakashi went stiff. He didn't know why it was important that Iruka believe him. He barely knew the man, didn't really want to know the man, and whether or not he was believed by Iruka wasn't going to change anything, anyway.

But it was important. Important for _someone_ to be on his side, before he was executed as a possible doppleganger. Important to be seen as _himself_, and not a questionable copy. A copy of the Copy Ninja. Now that was just funny.

Not funny enough to keep him from being angry, though.

After several meters Iruka glanced at him."You might as well stop looking like an injured cat. Fact is, you two aren't recognizable as the real one and the fake. Get used to it."

There had to be someone who--

Pakkun! He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it earlier. Pakkun could tell them apart, surely. Kakashi pulled out his scroll, bit through the tough skin of his thumb, and smeared blood across seals.

People cleared out of the way, muttering things about erratic ninja as they did so. He ignored them, focused, and a moment later his pug appeared in a wisping cloud of smoke.

"Hey, brat. What is it this time? You get that clone stuff figured out?"

He frowned. "What do you know about that?"

Pakkun sighed, plopped his rear on the ground, and scratched at an ear with a hind paw. "Guess not. The other one of you summoned me last night."

That stung. That his shadow clone thought to call Pakkun before he did was just... _wrong_. He should have thought of it first. He was the original of the two. Stronger, smarter, with quicker access to memories.

He was.

"And?" The word was sharper than he'd meant.

Pakkun's ears rose and fell back again. Slowly, he stood, walking a full circle around Kakashi as they stood on the sidewalk and Iruka looked on with warring curiosity and annoyance on his plain features. Deliberately, the pug stepped close and took a good long sniff of Kakashi's legs. Then he sat and shook his head. "Sorry, brat. You're identical." Floppy ears drooped. "I'd hoped I could tell, but..."

"I'm the real one." His heart thumped heavily. Someone had to know that. _Someone _had to believe him. Pakkun could often tell truth or lies--

The pug nodded with great care. "The other you said that, too. From what I can tell, you both believe it."

Purposefully, Kakashi slouched as if he didn't care. "But you know--"

"I don't know." There was something awful in those liquid chocolate eyes. Pity. "Come on, kid. Let's go inside, and we'll talk."

**

It was somehow awful to listen to Pakkun and Kakashi's quiet conversation. Iruka took his papers to the bedroom to grade and tried to keep his mind off the discussion in the other room. He could hear every few words, but mostly just the tone.

Quiet talking. Interruptions. Distress.

It wasn't his business. He tried to drag his focus back to homework, and only partially succeeded. When he felt the minor chakra flare that, he thought, meant Pakkun had been banished, he gave up and walked out into his main room.

The great and amazing Sharingan no Kakashi was sitting on the sofa, knees spread, elbows braced on them, his fingers spiking his hair out into disarray. He'd taken off both the hitai-ate and his mask, leaving his pale face naked and bare to any eyes that might fall on it.

Iruka looked quickly away. "Ah... Pakkun-san left?" He headed to the kitchen, busying himself with nothing productive. He poured a glass of water he didn't really want, opening the refrigerator to look for food he didn't really need.

"Yeah."

Nothing else.

Eventually, Iruka closed the fridge and looked out at the hunched man. "He could have stayed. I'm sure no one would have objected--"

"He wanted to go." With a deep breath, Kakashi straightened up and leaned back, head resting against the wall, gaze on the ceiling. "Said he'd rather not get attached to one or the other of us, since it was impossible to tell which would be sticking around."

Iruka winced. So much for dog loyalty. Or maybe the dog was more loyal than it should be. He drank some of his water, mostly for something to do. "I could make us some dinner," he offered at last.

Kakashi's face rolled to peer at him. "What's this, Sensei? I thought you hated me."

It was hard to hate anyone who looked so... 'lost' occurred to him, and he pushed it aside. This was the Copy Ninja, man of a thousand jutsu, former ANBU agent, he who never passed a genin team--except one. He didn't get _lost_.

"It seems to me I barely know you. Give me some credit." He completely ignored the fact that he'd been treating Kakashi like he did hate him, for something the possible-clone had done.

As if reading his thoughts, Kakashi asked, "So... what did he do? To make you so angry?"

Iruka flushed clear to the roots of his hair. But if he didn't tell, Kakashi would find out eventually, when he reabsorbed (or was reabsorbed into) the clone. "I was drunk the other night. And we had sex. I mean--he and I. And in the morning you--he--Hatake poked fun at everything from sexual prowess to drinking to my behavior. And then left." The conversation was drilled into Iruka's memory. Being called slut and lush and laughed at, all with a cheerful sardonic smile that made him think perhaps he was just being teased... except the words were vile. He hadn't, at the time, known how to respond. He'd been so taken aback he'd done nothing, and Hakate had left with happy promises to look Iruka up the next time he wanted a drunken screw.

Maybe he was being sensitive--but he didn't like being treated like so much trash.

"Well, there, see?" Kakashi hopped up, mismatched eyes alight. "I wouldn't do that! It was a clone!"

Iruka looked at him askance. "Do you have anyone who would vouch for that?"

Kakashi's smile faltered and fell. "No." He sat back down. "And if I were in a bad mood, I might do that. Just to see people squirm." He ran a hand over his head, back and forth, sending his hair in a new direction like some sort of light-seeking growth. "I try not to anymore. But I admit--I can be an asshole."

Iruka nodded. He'd already guessed as much. After team seven had been assigned to Kakashi, he'd done some research, asked around. The picture painted of the man really wasn't entirely flattering. The strokes added to it by Naruto were almost worse, even if they weren't so casually cruel. Genma and Anko had assured him that the brat had grown up over the last several years, no longer quite so embittered by war and the task of surviving. Then Iruka had slept with him, and it had gone so poorly...

He shook his head, rattling the thoughts away. He hadn't slept with _this_ man. Maybe he hadn't slept with Kakashi at all, but a clone.

Looking at the slim figure slouched on the sofa once more, he rather hoped he'd slept with a clone. This Kakashi was much more... human. Taking a deep breath, Iruka summoned a smile from deep inside. "Come on. Stop moping. I'll make some food, and you can help me tear apart papers. It's fun, when you're in a bad mood. Think of all the children whose hopes you'll be dashing."

The Sharingan spun lazily, half-lidded eyes widening for a moment. Then both crinkled, arcing up--mirroring the bright grin that showed off those slightly crooked teeth. The ink painted over one eye--starting to fade--shone dully. "Sounds like a regular party. Just need some porn and sake and we'll be set."

"No porn," Iruka laughed. "But I have sake." He opened a cupboard and pulled out a slightly dusty bottle, picking up two sake glasses while he was at it. One was chipped; he decided to keep that for himself. All three items got a rinsing before he walked them to the low table, where Kakashi had already seated himself. Iruka set the things down, then headed back into the bedroom to grab his paperwork.

It was boring, sure, but maybe a night of laughing at students would cheer Kakashi up. It certainly couldn't make things _worse_.

**

There was no doubt in his mind that Iruka was being kind for kindness' sake, that he didn't for a moment believe Kakashi, rather than Hatake, was the _real_ Kakashi. If Pakkun couldn't tell...

If Pakkun couldn't tell, how was anyone supposed to know? If Pakkun said Hatake had summoned him first, then...

There were whole chunks of memory missing from Kakashi's mind. Sure, that was because he'd been knocked unconscious. Except the clone's words kept coming back: The _real_ Copy Ninja wouldn't have been that sloppy. The real Copy Ninja would have thought to summon Pakkun right away. The real Copy Ninja would have gone to the hokage first--or taken care of the problem himself. Hakate had done, or attempted, all of those.

After grading homework--Kakashi had fear for the future of the village, if this was what it had to offer--and picking at rice and vegetables, they retired to their respective rooms. Iruka in his futon, and Kakashi on the couch. He stared at the ceiling and tried to banish thoughts from his mind, to no avail. At last he turned to thinking about how very much his shoulder hurt. No matter how he lay, the burns pulled or rubbed _somewhere_, leaving him in enough pain that tense muscles started a low throb in his head.

Because, of course, a headache would help_ so much_ right now.

Eventually, he got out of bed and opened the window, sitting in the sill and staring out over the village.

His village, its safe keeping given to him by the Fourth before Minato had died. He was Sharingan no Kakashi, child genius and high ranking jounin, and the people here were his to watch. He supposed Minato had only told him that to keep him from following in his father's steps, killing himself after so much was lost when the Fox had finished ravaging everything. A pretty speech for a pretty teenager whose sensei knew would struggle to find a place in the new world.

It didn't really matter if it was only pointless words. He'd held it close, using it as a lifeline when things looked bad. They'd looked worse than this, before. And yet... they'd never seemed this tenuous.

_His _village.

Unless it wasn't. Unless all that was just a memory created for a nearly perfect clone, given life by a warped jutsu.

The sun rose slowly, splashing coppery gold onto the Hokage Monument, catching the glitter of stone for just an instant before the light shifted and it was a cliff face. He quirked a tired smile at himself. Cliff faces, perhaps.

"It's freezing in here. Have you been up all night?"

He turned and looked back at the sleepy-eyed man in flannel pajamas and a robe tossed haphazardly over. "Hm." It was noncommittal at best. He could see what Hatake had seen in the man. Glossy black hair, dark skin, the economical movement all ninja should have but some never achieved. Broad palms and a plain face, somehow attractive despite its sheer normalcy. Or maybe because of the normalcy. In a village where half the ninja found a way to be 'unique,' the very fact that Iruka looked more like ... well, a school teacher, unworried about standing out or blending in but just being himself, was appealing. Only the scar across the bridge of his nose marked him as different, and even that somehow made him the same. Most ninja had scars.

Kakashi looked back out at the faces that watched over the slowly waking village. "Nice view."

"Yeah. I got the place for the view, actually. I mean, it's nice enough anyway, but I pay extra for that sight. Funny, though, I'm usually too busy to admire it."

The microwave beeped, and a moment later Iruka walked up with two mugs of green tea. He offered one, then leaned against the sill where Kakashi's feet rested and peered out over the scenery. "There's a really great little bakery down there. I've known the woman who runs it since I was a teenager. She still sometimes lets me in early when I'm up late, grading."

Kakashi nodded, cradling his mug in both hands, letting the heat seep into the small bones of his fingers.

They were quiet for a little while. Iruka sipped tea, and the cool air, not yet warmed by the sun, kept sliding over them. "Still feeling down?" the chuunin asked.

"Not down." The answer was automatic, his mouth working without his brain having to chime in. "Just contemplating porn."

There was a beat of silence, which he ignored, before Iruka spoke. "You're a lousy liar without your mask."

Kakashi's mouth twisted upward. With black cloth over his face, it wouldn't have been obvious. He could lie without the mask, but... so much effort. "Minato always said the same thing. Said I should practice."

"And did you?"

A laugh found its way out of his throat. "For a while. Stopped after... after the Kyuubi. Didn't seem much point to it. I always wear the mask."

"Hmmm."

He could feel Iruka's regard, warm black eyes peering at his profile. He kept staring out over the village, allowing the chuunin to look his fill.

"You could get caught. Have to lie to an interrogator. They'd remove your mask."

Kakashi made a disgusted noise. "Don't you listen to the rumors? Sharingan no Kakashi doesn't get _caught_." He caught the flash of a quick grin out of the corner of his eye.

"You might have to tell a lover you like her tea, even when it's awful."

He smiled brightly, patently false, and lifted the untouched mug Iruka had given him. "Good point."

"Hey!" Iruka laughed, turning to face Kakashi, not even pretending to look out anymore. "I make perfectly excellent tea."

"But if I never taste it, I never have to lie about it." He pulled his gaze away from the world, finally, and turned to look at Iruka. Black hair tangled and spilled along the tops of his shoulders, making funny patterns where it caught in the neck of his robe. There was sleep in one eye, and a pink imprint on one cheek. He was heavier boned than Kakashi was, but slightly shorter. A solid-looking chest filled out a T-shirt, implying square muscles without actually outlining them.

"No more tea for you," Iruka joked. He turned away and glanced out the window.

"You _microwaved _it. I'm not sure being banned from tea is a bad thing."

Iruka snorted. "Traditional, are you? Probably iron your underwear, too."

"I do not--"

Iruka laughed, merry eyes dancing over the village.

"Shouldn't you be getting dressed for another day of hellions?"

"It's Saturday, Kakashi. Surely even you understand the meaning of Saturday. I mean, I know your childhood education was less than traditional, even if your tea-drinking is downright stuffy, but tell me you grasp Saturdays."

"Hmm. Saturdays, Saturdays... nope, I'm pretty sure I don't know that one." He smiled again, falsely bright, somehow sarcastic.

Iruka snorted and drank more tea, ignoring him.

Silence fell, comfortable and easy. Below, people started wandering the streets. Gai ran past several rooftops over, his team in tow with Lee in the front. The jounin sensei was shouting encouragement and reciting poetry about ninja and the beauty of the sunrise. If Kakashi judged Neji and Tenten's expressions correctly, they were more interested in catching up to Gai to shut him up than in any actual training.

"There's a man," Iruka muttered, "who doesn't understand the meaning of Saturdays."

Conversation lapsed again, leaving them in the quite solitude of companionship. Kakashi's mind wandered as he watched the people below, civilians and ninja alike creeping out to start their days. In the flicker of a shadow he caught sight of two ANBU heading for the village gates, and wished them well. Not luck. Never luck. Ninja made their own of that.

Unless you were hit by a jutsu-scrambling technique, in which case something else made your luck for you. His mind turned again to the other Kakashi, staying with Anko several kilometers away. They would figure out which was the real one. And then the other would go away. Which was good. Because, of course, Kakashi was the real one.

Except the other had thought to call Pakkun first. Pakkun said he wasn't lying. Could he have subverted--? But, no. No. That made less sense than the clone thinking it was real.

But if the clone thought it was real...

Kakashi thought he was real. Surely the real Copy Ninja wouldn't have been taken down by an explosion. He rubbed his face, scraping fingers back through his hair.

"Hey," Iruka said quietly. "Tsunade will figure everything out."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Kakashi muttered.

Iruka looked confused, and for a moment he debated explaining. But--he didn't need to share these kinds of doubts with anyone else. He smiled brightly, instead. "What's for breakfast?"

There was a long pause. Then, finally, Iruka grumbled, "You're even worse at changing the subject. Maybe you should stick to lying." But that said, he turned and shuffled into the kitchen. "I think I own some cereal..."

**

There was a mound of disgusting, soggy bandages in the trash. Iruka wrinkled his nose, peering down at it, opening his mouth and making gagging faces even though there was no one around to see. Burns. He _hated _burns. The oozed and stuck and hurt--

Kakashi hadn't been acting like he was in pain. He'd been a little pale, sure, but that could be because of anything--including natural skin tone. On the other hand, if he _was _in pain and just not saying anything because he was Mr. Stoic Ninja, well... Iruka would have to berate him for it mercilessly.

He stepped out of the bathroom, wet hair pulled into a limp ponytail, wearing jeans and a clean T-shirt, and looked for his temporary houseguest. It wasn't like there were places Kakashi could hide, exactly, and sure enough, he was in the kitchen slathering peanut butter on crackers.

"That's gross," Iruka said.

Kakashi glanced at him, silver eyebrows rising briefly. Then he took a big bite of one of the crackers, "mmmmm"ing all the while.

"I hope your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth."

Kakashi got that look Iruka sometimes managed to pull from him--like he wasn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed. Amusement won out, as it usually did. Then alarm replaced it, and he started working his jaw with frantic exaggeration. His mouth opened, tongue arcing and pressed upward, covered in masticated cracker and peanut butter, as if it were truly stuck.

Iruka couldn't help it. He shook his head and laughed, earning a quick grin from the other man and--thankfully--a loss of the half-chewed-food view. "How's your arm?" He gestured to where Tsunade had cut him.

Kakashi swallowed, shrugged, and took another bite. He lifted it, glanced down at the white bandage, and made a dismissive gesture.

"And whatever burns?"

That earned a grimace. He swallowed again. "Hurt like hell when I forget to take pain pills. I'll survive."

"Do you have enough? And it can't be easy to bandage. You sure you're managing?"

Those lazy eyes--the ink, Iruka noticed, had entirely faded--looked vaguely amused. "I've managed for last twenty-odd years. I'm pretty sure I've got this covered."

Realizing he was acting like a teacher, rather than... well, whatever he was, Iruka smiled self-consciously. "Right. Well, if you need a hand..." He turned away, picking a magazine up off the top of a stack and staring at the cover before he realized he didn't really care about reading it. He put it down and picked up the remote.

Before the television flicked on, Kakashi cleared his throat. "Actually, if you wouldn't mind, it could probably use another set of hands. It's a little awkward to do salve and bandages and tape at this angle, with only ten measly digits."

Iruka smiled wryly, setting the remote back down. "Yeah, and if you don't get enough salve you end up tearing scabs off..." He'd been there.

"Exactly."

"In your duffel?" At Kakashi's nod, Iruka dug through it. It didn't take much to find the jar of slick goop and the reams of bandages and medical tape. He checked to see if they were non-stick--not that anything could keep from sticking somewhat, but every little bit helped--and glanced up to see Kakashi coming around the counter, already shimmying out of his T-shirt.

Iruka wished the man weren't so sexy. It hit him like a blow to the gut, and he had a sudden vivid alcohol-drenched memory of his hands skimming over a narrow, sinuous torso padded with muscle laying sleek against a slim ribcage--

But that hadn't been this Kakashi. He dragged his mind back to the present, relieved to see the man hadn't noticed Iruka's brief sojourn through happy land. He was folding his shirt, setting it to one side over the arm of a chair.

One shoulder was heavily--and clumsily--bandaged, stretching down his arm a short way and missing a burned section on his back. Iruka winced, looking at it. At that angle, it was more likely that Kakashi had one available hand to bandage, not even the easier two.

"Sit there," Iruka suggested, gesturing to the low table. Kakashi folded himself gracefully into a lotus position, presenting the curve of his spine and the flat planes of his shoulder blades. Iruka knelt behind him, unscrewing the lid to the jar. "Hold this?"

Kakashi lifted a hand, palm open, without turning to look. Iruka set the jar in it, long fingers closed, and the man left his hand there so Iruka could reach the gel again without asking.

Carefully, he started to peel the old bandages off. Medical tape did its best to drag skin off, too, tearing away the topmost layer. There were patches where flesh was starting to look raw, where Kakashi had likely pulled off several bandaging jobs. The muscles so near Iruka tensed and bunched when yellow scabs, sticking to the wraps, tore off as well.

"Sorry," Iruka murmured, working as carefully as he could. No matter how carefully he worked, though, more scabs came away, more skin was ripped off, and the tense lines of muscle framing Kakashi's spine quivered under his pale flesh.

Kakashi had missed several sections that needed to be bandaged, adding insult to injury by taping over them instead. Other areas had no--or not enough--salve, making the forming scabs attach themselves to the supposedly nonstick cloth. The burns wept clear fluid once Iruka had them uncovered again, and he winced before dipping his fingers in the gel and, as delicately as he could, smearing it over the man's seared shoulder.

Slowly, the tension drained out of Kakashi's frame. Iruka knew from the tingle in his fingers that the salve had some sort of painkiller in it as well, easing the hurt caused by simply re-dressing the wound. He applied it liberally, making even the healthy skin glisten with goo to be sure he got all the edges. When he had enough caked on to make sure there was a barrier between burns and bandages, he carefully laid strips of cloth over the shoulder, beyond the areas of raw skin, and then taped them in place so the medical tape affixed to as little flesh as possible.

Finally, he rocked back on his heels, taking the jar out of Kakashi's upheld hand. "Try that."

The man moved his neck from one side to the other, then slowly raised and lowered his shoulders. "I feel like a mummy."

"But a very attractive mummy," Iruka quipped before he thought better of it. He blushed hotly and hoped Kakashi would let the statement slip.

No such luck. The Copy Ninja turned to arc a look over his shoulder, scar bunching above his eyebrow as the Sharingan whirled once and settled. Thankfully, he said nothing else.

Which didn't stop Iruka from adding more words he probably should keep locked up. These came with a wry smile, acknowledging the truth from a moment before. "What? I wouldn't have slept with you--or your clone, whatever--if I didn't think you were attractive."

Kakashi's gaze slid away, flicking up as if in thought. Then he nodded as if it were a matter of grave importance. "True."

"But, really, you don't look like a mummy. More like one of those Sound ninja, with the bandages all over."

Kakashi grinned. "Oh, well, that's much better. Instead of the lustful undead now I'm a traitorous enemy. I can live with that."

Picking up the detritus of his bandaging job, Iruka laughed. "The point is, you'll be living. It's a better state of affairs."

Kakashi chuckled. The sound purred over Iruka's skin, as physical as a caress. Then the man stood, stepping away and pulling his shirt back on. Gray cloth slid over pale skin, hiding it under material that fit over slim shoulders and fell into soft folds around his narrow waist.

"I think," Kakashi said, interrupting Iruka's thoughts, "maybe I should go see Tsunade. Maybe there's been more evidence or she's come up with a way to get rid of my clone."

Iruka nodded, packing everything back up. "Good idea. Besides, showing you're confident that you're the real thing can only help your case."

Kakashi beamed. "My thought exactly."

**

Tsunade folded her hands over her desk, looking at the young men before her. Kakashi--his mask up and hitai-ate on--was inscrutable. Iruka was frowning, a crease between his dark brows.

"What do you mean Hakate was in earlier?" Iruka asked.

"With Pakkun. Pakkun said you'd summoned him?" She directed her question to Kakashi, who only nodded wordlessly. "And Pakkun said he couldn't tell the difference between you."

Though it wasn't a question, Kakashi nodded again.

"And I can't tell the difference between you." Both Copy Ninja had submitted to full physicals, for both their bodies and their energy pathways. Both of them seemed like perfect copies--ha ha. Neither of them were trying to run, which might at least have told her which of them was feeling nervous--and therefore which of them had _reason _to feel nervous. Anko had privately told her that Hakate seemed to her to be just like the real Kakashi, even if he'd been cranky. They both figured this mess was a good reason to be cranky.

Tsunade looked at the man before her with some sympathy. Despite his outwardly casual appearance, she could sense his chakra--or rather, couldn't sense it at all, it was coiled so tense and tightly within him. "You realize," she tried to tell him gently, "that Hakate has been one step ahead of you this whole time." A little bit quicker to the draw, a little bit faster to try new things to show he was real. A little bit better, a little bit sharper.

Kakashi's smiled was strained, even though she could only see a small part of his face. "That proves it, then. When have I ever been first to do anything?"

Tsunade smiled, because he was trying to make her smile. "Did you know your chakra is cut in half?"

That caught him by surprise. "What?"

"Half. You can't do the jutsu you would normally be able to do. You won't be able to go the speeds, or be as strong, as you normally would be able to be. Do you understand what this means?"

If there had been strain before, there was outright alarm now. He still hid it well. She doubted Iruka could see it--but she'd known Kakashi when he'd been Minato's student. He couldn't hide from her.

"It means," he said in a brittle voice, "that two Copy Ninja aren't better than one."

Her smile twisted painfully. "Right." It meant he was worth less to the village. Wasn't as strong. Wasn't the Sharingan no Kakashi they needed. It meant they couldn't just wait for the situation to resolve itself; not in their weakened state.

He took a breath. "Did you want to see the stolen jutsu?"

It was another blow. She knew that, and told him anyway. "Hakate already showed us. It's quite clever."

His fingers tapped on the arm of his chair. Index, ring, index. Stop. "Yes," he said at last. "Clever." After a terse moment he stood, affecting a slouch, tucking his hands into his pockets. "If that's all then, I suppose we'll stop taking up your time. Hokage-sama." He bowed briefly, and left without being dismissed.

Iruka stood and scrambled after him.

**

"They're trying," Iruka said, catching up to the swiftly walking ninja. "They'll figure something out--"

"They don't believe I'm me." The sentence cut over Iruka's words, cold and sharp as a kunai blade. "She thinks I'm a shadow clone."

"But you're not, right? There must be a way to tell--" He nearly reeled back as Kakashi turned on him. For the space of a heartbeat, there was livid emotion in the other man's single visible eye. Then, quick as it had been there, it was gone again, wrestled back under control.

"Have you thought of a way, Sensei?" There was cool disdain in the words. Iruka stiffened. "Have you learned something you've neglected to share? Because according to Pakkun, the shadow clone thinks it is me. And I think I'm me. But the hokage, she seems to think I'm not and the clone is. So who's really right? If we all think I'm me and we all think he's me then tell me, who am I actually?"

Iruka fought for a long while with his own temper, trying to hear the words instead of the distancing sneer. He took a breath, jaw tightening, hands curling into fists at his sides. If Kakashi wanted to be an ass, he didn't have to reciprocate. "You're the Copy Ninja," he said finally.

"What if I'm not? What is the copy of the Copy Ninja?" He rocked back on his heels, looking thoughtful. Every movement was graceful, smooth, and yet there was an underlying readiness there that spoke of strain. "A clone that makes its master weaker isn't very useful to the village, is it?"

He didn't wait for an answer before turning and walking away.

Iruka, lost as to what else to do, followed. They weren't heading back to his apartment. "Where are we going?"

"Home."

"Home's that way." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, taking two quick steps to pull alongside Kakashi. For all that the man looked like he was meandering, he covered ground rapidly.

"My home. Not yours."

"Tsunade said not to go--"

Kakashi's eye arced as he smiled behind his mask. "I'm not going to be put down like some kind of dog because they aren't sure who I am."

The words were at such odds with his tone that it took Iruka a jolting moment to process. "You think there's something that might prove you're you?"

Kakashi only "hmm"ed and didn't otherwise respond.

**


	3. Chapter 3

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Chapter Three

There was nothing that could prove he was himself. In fact, it was clear that the other him had already been through the place: Things had been moved. Perhaps, Kakashi thought morbidly, there had been evidence. But as always the other him was one step ahead. A hair smarter than Kakashi. A hair faster on the uptake.

Just like the real version compared to a clone.

It made his stomach turn. His blood chill. What had happened in those unconscious hours? Was that a true injury, or a blackout caused by what should have been clone-death?

"I'm sure it'll be all right." Iruka's voice was a murmur in the tiny apartment.

Kakashi resisted the urge to scream, to rave, to punch Iruka right in his sympathetic face. He was just angry--

Except he wasn't, and he hadn't gotten this far in life lying to himself. He was Iupset/I. What if the other-him was right? What if Tsunade's implications were correct? What if he _wasn_'t Kakashi, but just a near-perfect clone? Not quite perfect. Not smart enough to get the one-up on his other self.

What if life ended in another few days? If it was decided that he was the clone--what then? Did they just execute him and hope that with enough physical trauma he'd vanish? If he didn't--would they go so far as to actually kill him? Or if it did work--what happened then? Clones didn't have souls. He'd just disappear off the face of Konoha.

"Kakashi?" Fingertips rested on his sleeve, worried and wary.

He stepped away. "It's fine. I suppose we should go." Turning, he walked out of the apartment, sensing Iruka on his heels. It was barely a thought to reset the seals that locked his door. Hands tucked in his pockets, shoulders rounded, he ambled down the corridor and down the stairs, finally walking back out into the sunshine. There was a briskness in the air that promised fall, soon. Leaves would turn colors and drop off to eddy down the streets, whirl around peoples' ankles.

If he remembered that so clearly, how could it be fake?

"It'll be okay," Iruka said again, like some sort of broken record.

Kakashi slanted him a sideways look out of a half-lidded eye. "When you say that to your students, do they actually believe it?"

The chuunin pulled back, shoulders rocking straight. "When I say it to my students, they're at least adult enough to take it for the consolation it's meant as."

Kakashi pondered the straight-nosed profile, the stiff carriage, and finally bobbed his head once. "Perhaps it's something they learn being in school. I skipped most of mine."

The dark-haired man seemed to accept it for what it was: An olive branch. Iruka relaxed slightly. "Look, Tsunade's not going to go around playing eeny-meeny-miny-moe with you and... you. Purely practically speaking, if she gets the wrong one she loses both. Better to have a half-powered you than no you at all, right? So trust her."

Kakashi refrained from pointing out that he had been, and the maybe-clone had gotten farther because of it.

They walked in silence for a while before Iruka spoke again. "You skipped school entirely?"

He inhaled deeply, letting his ribcage collapse with the exhale. "Mostly. I had sensei when I was still very young for training, and all forms of jutsu came easily, even if taijutsu had to be altered slightly to accommodate a smaller-than-usual body. It's harder to speed up reading and math, so I had tutors between missions."

"Between missions doesn't sound like a lot of schooling time." Iruka paused, thinking. "Did you just learn everything else faster than most people, too? I mean, I know you're supposed to be a genius--"

Kakashi looked at him, eyebrows raised.

Iruka flushed. For a man with dark skin, he certainly turned colors easily. "I did some looking into you when you ended up with Team Seven. Everyone said genius. Does that apply to reading, writing, and arithmetic?"

They wandered past the bakery Iruka had pointed out just that morning. Kakashi stopped, turning to look in the window, then went inside.

It was a full thirty seconds before Iruka caught up, looking annoyed. Kakashi grinned at him. "No. That's why I had tutors." Fighting, ninjutsu, shaping chakra, learning weapons--that had all come as naturally as breathing. Reading, writing and arithmetic, as Iruka had put it, had not only been more difficult, but boring when compared to battle fever and spilling blood. He'd still learned faster than most, as he understood it, but when his frame of reference was the physical arts... mental arts had been more of a hassle than anything.

He looked at the rows upon rows of breads and sweets, many of them showcased behind a glass wall that stretched the length of the building. The smell was overwhelming to a dog-sensitive nose. He pointed to a stack of fancy looking rolls, catching the proprietor's eye and lifting two fingers.

The man smiled broadly and opened the back of the case, loading the breads into a brown bag.

"But tutors between missions... well, I suppose if you didn't have _many _missions--"

"We were at war," Kakashi said with vast amusement. "Of course I had many missions."

Iruka's gaze turned inward, working something over in his head. "It takes years to teach kids everything they need to know about math, science, mythology, reading, the workings of luck charms, social studies, how to live off foraging, history, politics--not to mention enough seals and military knowledge to graduate with the basics of orders and ranks and whatnot. We can't fit it all in. It's why the jounin sensei are so important, to teach them even more tactical knowledge and codes and how to discern direction--" He stopped, catching Kakashi's amused eye. Iruka waved a dismissive hand. "Well, you know all that. Our Academy students get twice the amount of work the civilian students do, and twice the homework. Half of them fail out before they're nine. You couldn't _possibly _have fit all that into between-missions tutoring sessions."

Kakashi took the brown bag, handing over several coins, and wandered out of the shop. Not many people put together what Iruka did. But then, not many people were involved in actually getting all that information crammed into little pre-ninja heads.

"Some of that," he said, pulling out a bun and handing it to the man walking beside him, "I learned by doing. You learn social studies by being in a place, how to live off foraging when it's that or starve. Directional readings and good luck charms are passed on by other ninja--especially when there's not much else to do, waiting for the next fight."

Of course, some of it he hadn't learned. They paused at Iruka's building while the chuunin unlocked the doors, and made their slow way up a flight of stairs and into his apartment. Kakashi toed his sandals off, still holding his bun in the brown bag. Iruka was tearing at his, taking small bites and listening. Thinking.

"You must have been _really _smart," the chuunin muttered at last. There was a line between his brows, a mark of uncertainty. He didn't, Kakashi suspected, believe it was possible to learn everything from between-missions tutors.

He was right. Kakashi found himself speaking again, wanting to smooth away that disgruntled look. "When Minato became my jounin sensei, I was missing some important information, still. I knew enough kanji to puzzle out the key elements of any mission scroll, and not much else. He started me reading porn." Kakashi grinned at the startled look Iruka threw him. "I was in puberty. It was perfect. Got my reading comprehension levels up, and he figured if I could read and I could do things, then I had the ability to look up any other information I might need." He tipped his head, thinking. "Assuming, of course, I had the time to get to a library." Which wasn't a given in his line of work, but it was better than nothing.

Kakashi's attention fell back on Iruka, who was looking more concerned than anything. "I still can't tell you what the chemical-chakra reaction is, exactly," he continued, "that causes an exploding tag to go off. But I know where to place them and what to do for any specific explosion-shrapnel combination you need."

Iruka responded without actually contemplating his words. "The chakra acts as a small incendiary jutsu to--"

"I don't want to know. I think it's boring."

The sensei stopped, had a moment where a bevy of expressions crossed his face--annoyance, distress, some close kin to flabbergasted--and then he looked at Kakashi again. Really _looked_.

Kakashi pulled his mask down, tearing off a piece of bread and popping it into his mouth. "Funny when you find out the village icons are human, isn't it?" he said with great relish, and flopped down onto the couch.

That brought the quick flash of a smile to Iruka's mouth. He settled on a nearby chair, eating more of his bun. "It is. You icons should know enough to realize that being human is against the rules."

Kakashi chuckled. The air settled with the quiet munching of two men eating, leaving the conversation alone. Leaving Kakashi's thoughts to spin on themselves.

For a genius, he sure had screwed things up. Or maybe he wasn't a genius. Maybe he was just a clone. It was both soothing and unsettling.

"You're looking morbid again."

He jumped and looked up. "I am not."

"You are. All--" Iruka pulled his brows in, the corners of his lips down, and glowered at the table.

Kakashi snorted. "I never look like that."

"Maybe not when you're wearing a mask, but right _now_..."

He gave the other man an unimpressed look and yanked his mask up. Then pulled it back down to take another bite of his bread, but pulled it up while he chewed.

Iruka laughed. It was a surprisingly pleasing sound, a rumble of good cheer from a deep chest.

"So, I'm forgiven for the other-me's actions?"

Iruka stood, quirking a grin. "Yeah, I suppose so. I guess saying a clone did it is kind of a free pass..."

Kakashi stood as well, following shadow-like into the kitchen. "So chalk up one good point to this doppleganger mess. I can do anything, and get away with it."

"Better than 'my dog ate my homework,'" Iruka agreed. He wiped off already-clean sinks and shuffled canisters into corners.

Kakashi supposed he could step out of the entry and let Iruka back out, where he had the whole room to fidget in, but he rather liked the way the man smelled, and this close it was a constant. He pulled his mask down again and took a deep breath, relaxing and leaning against the counter. No wonder his clone had taken the chuunin up on the offer of drunken sex.

"So what about you?" Kakashi asked, just to ask something. "You're... not a genius."

Iruka snorted. "No. I'm normal."

Kakashi's grin brightened his face, arcing his visible eye. "I wouldn't say_ that_."

The chuunin froze, peering at him as if unsure whether that was a compliment or an insult. Kakashi decided he needed to say such things a lot more often, because that expression was _hilarious_. He might not belittle people after sex, but he was enough of an ass to confuse them. Cheerfully.

"More normal ninja career. Graduated at twelve, made chuunin at fifteen, got a job teaching at twenty, been there ever since."

The thought of spending day in and day out with students made Kakashi's skin crawl. "Why did you go into teaching?"

Iruka leaned against the corner of the sink, settling comfortably. "I like teaching. I like kids."

This time, he really did shudder. "You're one of _those_, aren't you?"

"_Those_?" Iruka laughed.

"One of those breeding people who wants a passel of nose miners."

"Children, and no." Iruka grinned, obviously amused at Kakashi's horror. "I just like kids. I wouldn't mind one of my own some day, but right now I deal with other people's brats all day. And at the end, I can send them home. One of the perks of teaching."

Something relaxed in Kakashi's shoulders. That was a _relief_. He wasn't sure why, exactly--what Iruka did and didn't want shouldn't affect him--but there it was. "Do you have siblings?"

Iruka shook his head. His ponytail swung behind him. "No family."

Kakashi nodded. Some days, he thought there were more orphans than those with parents in all of Konoha. Maybe all of Fire Country. "At least they aren't pressuring you for grandkids."

The smile that twisted the man's mouth was wry. "And no family jutsu to pass on. You, though... the Hatake clan is pretty well known. You ever think about it dying out?"

Just when had this turned serious? He shifted uncomfortably, mind skipping through what would happen if his name vanished with him. Nothing, really. The dogs would be released from their summons, but aside from a penchant for being _good _ninja, nothing would be lost. He wasn't sure, though, that he wanted to discuss it. He smiled instead, and quipped, "I plan on making a host of clones and living forever through them."

"Good plan! You could have a Kakashi-harem."

"Exactly. You know, people pay good money to get sexually serviced by multiples. If all of those multiples had my stunning good looks and chakra technique, why--"

"Konoha wouldn't need to take any missions that are dangerous ever again! We could all relax and let you do the work for us."

Kakashi draped one hand across his chest, lifting his gaze skyward. "It would be a sacrifice, but nothing is too much for my village."

Iruka broke first, laughing and shaking his head. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"

Other than this shadow-clone problem, which he couldn't do anything about... "I try not to."

Iruka opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was cut off with the abrupt arrival of a hawk. It settled with deathly silence in the window. They both stared at it for a moment before Kakashi moved, striding across the room and taking the tiny scroll affixed to its leg. The bird spread glossy brown wings and leaped, a single down stroke taking it into the air, and another wheeling it away over the village.

Hawks were only used by those in high power. People like the hokage herself, and those with hawk-summons. Carefully, he unwrapped the scroll and scanned it.

If Minato hadn't taught him to read, one part of his mind reflected idly, he would have had to ask Iruka to translate. And he didn't want Iruka reading this.

He took a breath and called up a sunny smile. The energy to make it reach his eye, though, was lacking. "The Hokage wants me."

The grin didn't seem to fool Iruka. He nodded silently, solemnly, black eyes searching Kakashi's face as if he might find a clue, there, to what the paper said. Just in case, Kakashi rolled it back up and tucked it into a pocket.

_Hatake Kakashi_, it had read, _we may have found a way to banish the clone without physical damage. Please pack a bag and report to T&I. Do not leave the village. Come immediately._

Scare tactics. Still trying to make one of them run, throwing around the Torture and Interrogation devision of ANBU. He wouldn't run, because he was the real thing. Whatever they did couldn't be worse than this.

**

Two ANBU fell into flanking position with them as he and Iruka raced over rooftops, heading toward the main building. He tried not to let it bother him, tried to remember it was another scare tactic, and tried not to think about ways to destroy a clone.

Pain, of course. Death was an obvious one. Pain hadn't worked. At least, not the minor pain Tsunade had inflicted, and major pain would damage the real Kakashi as well.

T&I were masters of genjutsu.

He dropped down from the rooftops as they neared the building, electing to go in through the doors. Iruka, who'd been silent most of the way, dropped with him. To the chuunin's credit he didn't jump when the faceless ANBU landed as well, seemingly materializing out of the shadows. Whether Iruka had noticed them already, expected it, or just had nerves of steel was anyone's guess.

They all held the silence as they filed into the building and down the stairs. The light was artificial, and the walls gray stone shimmered with seals. Seals you couldn't see, only sense, seals that couldn't be broken or destroyed. Seals to keep high level prisoners.

One of the men in bone and white stepped forward, opening a door. Kakashi went in, followed by Iruka, followed by the other ANBU. A quick glance back showed the chuunin seemingly as calm as if he was being escorted to the mission office. His scent, however, was filled with the sour tartness of crab apples. Stress.

Kakashi guessed that if anyone had had a sensitive enough nose, they'd have said the same about him.

They walked into yet another room, this one guarded by two more ANBU and furnished with two simple fold-away chairs. Anko sat in one. She stood, gaze flicking anxiously between Kakashi and Iruka. "You got the summons, too?" Her eyes landed on the Copy Ninja finally, face tipped up.

He nodded once. "Hatake here?"

"Inside."

Before anyone could say anything more, one of the ANBU stepped between them and politely--and silently--gestured toward the only other door in the room.

Two could play that game. Kakashi silently and politely inclined his head and wandered where directed, feeling the ninja follow him. He glanced back as he opened the door. The other ANBU that had escorted them stood beside Iruka, who watched with alarm.

"Sit down, Sensei," Anko murmured. "We might be here a while."

The hunter following Kakashi stepped into his line of sight, and gestured through the door again.

Kakashi turned and walked through.

**

There were few things in the world more alarming than being told to lay on a cot because you probably wouldn't be able to stand afterward.

They didn't say as much, but_ assuming you're alive_ was heavy in the air.

The room was white. White walls, white floor, white ceiling. There were a few chairs and two beds, one of which was occupied by Hatake, the other of which was occupied by Kakashi. Tsunade was there, and Eisuke, the torture specialist Kakashi had had the displeasure to meet once before. There was a doctor, and the requisite two ANBU. They flanked the only door like stone and cloth gargoyles, masks bright and smiling with black holes for eyes.

"With luck," Tsunade said, pacing back and forth at the foot of the beds, "this will be over quickly. If pain destroys a clone, then it might just take more extreme pain to destroy a jutsu-twisted clone." She stopped, facing them. "I'm sorry. We haven't been able to unlock that jutsu. This will not be pleasant, but physically you'll remain unharmed and you'll be mission-fit again--well, as soon as your _other _injuries heal."

Kakashi had mostly tuned her words out. He tried to find a center in the midst of emotional chaos, a calm point to focus on. He wasn't entirely successful.

"Try not to fight this," Eisuke said, leaning over. His eyes were bright red, hallmark of his clan, and his fingers twisted gracefully.

Then the world fell away.

**

"I don't like it."

Ibiki stepped out of the shadows, pulling his bone-white mask off, keeping the black cloak draped around his shoulders. "None of us like it."

On the bed, one of the Kakashi's twitched. Both Sharingan whirled.

"Eisuke seems to like it," Tsunade muttered.

Eisuke looked up quickly, wide lips flashing in a quick smile. "It's my job. I'm just pleased with a job well done, Tsunade-sama."

Tsunade said nothing, and the man turned back to his charges.

Kakashi's fingers curled, and relaxed again.

"Keep the genjustu to a minimum," Tsunade snapped.

Ibiki laid one gnarled hand on her shoulder. "If neither of them have banished yet, it _is_ at a minimum."

She shrugged away from him, returning to pacing. When she got closer she stopped, hissing in his ear. "How are our ninja supposed to trust us if we can't even tell which is real?"

Ibiki didn't answer. He didn't think he was supposed to. After a moment, she turned and walked away.

**

It was a basic genjutsu. Some part of his mind was aware of that, cataloging things, even as he writhed in pain and screamed from a throat gone broken.

It was a basic genjutsu, but even a basic one could turn a man into a vegetable, make him weep with agony, beg to be released.

It seemed like every few minutes, it ramped up. Got worse. Which meant--both Kakashis were still there. Still alive.

His skin peeled away from muscle, dull knives twining under ligaments and stretching them out because the blade was too blunt to cut. He watched his fingers curl involuntarily as the tendons in his wrist--white and slick with blood--pulled and pulled and finally tore free with a sucking noise. And the pain didn't subside.

But his hand wisped into smoke.

**

"What do you think they're doing in there?" It was a stupid question. He knew what they were doing in there. Or he suspected, which was almost as bad.

"Sit down, Sensei," Anko said, attention fixed on her knitting. Knitting! He turned to look at her, at what was apparently a sock for a mutant freak, and went back to pacing.

"They've been in there for twenty minutes."

"And they'll be in there for twenty more, most likely. Sit down. You're making our ANBU friends twitchy."

He turned to regard the one at the door that led out, and the other at the door that led in. "He's one of you, you know. And they're--what? Torturing him? Because he did his _job_ and got the jutsu the village wanted."

Knitting needles click-clicked. The masks seemed not to acknowledge him at all.

Iruka turned and sat down, shoulder to shoulder with Anko in the middle of the room. "What do you think they're doing in there?"

Anko didn't look up and gave him the same answer she'd given before. "We probably don't want to know."

**

Fire sliding inside his body, curling under his skin where he couldn't put it out, and more of him wisped into nothingness. His hand, his arm, his feet were going--

He screamed, and no one heard him, and he'd be _damned_ if he was going to die after all this time, vanishing into smoke. He dragged a breath--genjutsu breath wasn't really air, some broken part of his mind giggled--and focused. The tiny drifts of mist halted, swirling back together, forming around his arm and hand and foot--

Becoming solid again.

He was _not _going to vanish into nothing.

**

"End it."

Eisuke glanced up, surprise on his dusky face. "But neither of them have--"

"_End it_."

Ibiki leaned close, pulling his white mask down over his expression again. "We won't know which is real."

"It won't matter if they're insane or braindead because of pain." Tsnuade's face was drawn in tight lines, the muscle in her jaw flexing. Perfectly manicured nails appeared and vanished as she clenched her hands. With a deep breath, she forced herself to relax and settle back on her heels. "It won't do us any good if we have the real one, and he's useless."

Ibiki nodded his agreement, melting back into the shadows.

Eisuke's eyes were closed, his face beatific as he unwound his chakra from their minds, pulling it slowly away.

One of the Kakashis--Hatake--shuddered and gulped a half-sob before he relaxed and slipped into unconsciousness. The other didn't so much as twitch before he went under.

For a moment, all was silent in the room except for the ragged breathing of two bodies recovering from strain. "Get them to the infirmary," Tsunade said quietly.

She'd tortured two of her own people. And they were no closer to a solution.

*****

www[dot]jbmcdonald[dot]com --original work

jbmcdragon[dot]livejournal[dot]com -- my livejournal, with a lot more fic.

asylums[dot]insanejournal[dot]com[slash]fallen_leaves[slash]profile -- Fallen Leaves, collaborative writing. A bit about that, because I've been asked:

Fallen Leaves is a Naruto AU, set about 7 years before the start of Naruto. It's a world about the workings of ANBU, pretty grim and gritty at times. (Other times, not so much. :D) It's a bit like a serial, like a television show with a big cast, where there are lots of stories but they all take place in the same universe and they often (but not always) interconnect. There are canon characters (Kakashi, Genma, etc) and original characters (Katsuko, Ryouma, etc). If you don't want to read all the backstory, you can hit up The Story So Far (which sums everything up so you can jump right in), and you can also check out The reader's guide and thread index (which walks you through all the stories, with links) where a 'thread' is a story, and an 'arc' is a series of stories that kinda need to be read together.

There's an official shiny ad, but I forget where. . You should also check out Fallen Leave's friends, because there's an OOC comm (where we post fun stuff, and when we've finished a story), and each character has their own journal which is only semi-Fallen Leaves Canon, but still fun. ;-D

Hope you enjoy!

J


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Someone was muttering. It was both vastly annoying and rather soothing, which in itself was annoying. On the other hand, being annoyed meant no pain and alive, so that was soothing. All in all, Kakashi supposed it was a crap shoot.

"How can you _not know_ what a bunshin is? We just spent the week covering this..." someone grumbled. It was followed by the scratch of a pen slashing over paper, and the rustle of that paper being moved.

Groggily, Kakashi opened his eyes. The world greeted him in a swirl of color and monochrome that he didn't normally notice, and it took several long seconds for his brain to start re-translating what he was seeing into something understandable.

Hospital. The voice muttering about chakra flow was Iruka, sitting in a chair with papers spread out on the little food tray and across Kakashi's legs, which were mountain ranges under an ugly yellow blanket.

Kakashi worked his throat to try and get saliva into his mouth, and spoke hoarsely. "How long've I been out?"

Iruka jumped, red pen scrawling surprise across the page. "Holy crows, you scared me."

He smirked, though it was a pale shadow of his usual expression. "'Holy crows'?"

"Can't swear around kids. Shut up. And you've been out for about three days."

He closed his eyes and tried to think. Three days. They'd danced a number across his pathway system, then. "Today's Tuesday?"

"Wednesday."

"That's four days." He frowned and opened his eyes, glancing at Iruka.

"I said _about_." Iruka reached over, callused fingers pressing against Kakashi's wrist as if the machine attached had somehow forgotten to measure his heartbeat.

Kakashi pulled his arm away. "Hakate?"

The hesitation was slight, but there. "He woke up late yesterday."

"Ah." It was the only word Kakashi said, but it was the only word he needed to say. Silence hung.

Hatake had returned from the mission first. Found Tsunade first. Shown the jutsu first. Woken up first.

And Kakashi remembered wisping into smoke, only willpower dragging his body back together.

"They didn't let him leave until today. They wanted him to stay overnight for observation."

"Hm."

"I'm sure they'll want you to stay overnight for observation."

"Hm."

Iruka sat, quietly stiff, and stared at his hands. Kakashi could see him out of the corner of his eye, head bowed slightly, ponytail hanging like a wilted flag.

"They'll probably want to talk to you, since you're awake," the chuunin said.

Kakashi nodded. It was just a matter of time.

_Screaming in agony, watching his body dissolve, and he was __**not going to die**_--

Everything was just a matter of time.

**

Iruka took his charge home on Thursday, after school. In the time he'd known Kakashi--not long, and for half of it the man had been unconscious--he'd seen him thoughtful, arrogant, blasé and at ease. He'd never seen him... _pensive_ wasn't right, but neither was _moody_. He simply wasn't himself. He was lost in his own head, too contained to be sulking but not aware enough to be thinking.

It made Iruka uncomfortable. He tapped the end of his pen on the sheet in front of him, trying not to flick glances over at the jounin curled loosely on his couch. Settled in one corner with both feet up, Icha Icha Paradise in his hand, he'd been sitting still for the last hour and a half. He hadn't even turned the page.

At long last Iruka cleared his throat and spoke without looking over. "Did they talk to you?"

"Hm." From the tone, he guessed that was a 'yes.'

"And?"

The jounin _finally_ turned a page. "They apologized for the genjutsu. Said nothing was conclusive. They're still working on it. Made sure I was all right and not about to have a psychotic break and sent me home with pills."

Iruka turned to look at Kakashi. Wearing black flannel pants and a blue T-shirt, he was the epitome of lazy. Iruka didn't buy it for a second. "Are you?" he asked.

"About to have a psychotic break?" The words stretched through the air, lifting and falling with idle sarcasm.

Iruka's grip tightened with annoyance. "Are you okay."

"Must be."

He turned back to his paper. It was blatantly obvious Kakashi wasn't okay, but if he wanted to fake it that wasn't Iruka's business. He glared at the sheet and violently marked one question _wrong_. "If you weren't okay, no one would blame you." He hadn't meant to say that. With the words crashing to the floor between them, he held his breath to see if Kakashi would notice.

"Of course not. They'd blame the jutsu." He turned another page.

"Kakashi--"

"Can I read in peace? Or are you supposed to guard my thoughts, too?"

Iruka fell silent, simmering with unspoken words. He tried to turn back to his grading.

**

Kakashi didn't take the pills that night. He didn't bother sleeping that night. He sat in Iruka's window and looked out over the village that was his to protect, watching it slumber.

Except it wasn't his to protect. It was Hatake's to protect. He replayed those moments in his mind's eye, remembering the jutsu that had created a clone--created him--remembering the way it had felt. But those weren't his memories. They were just the ones that were created with him, after he'd appeared.

Everything from that moment forth had been altered by the enemy nin's jutsu. He'd been given true life, and a history that went with that life, and everything he remembered wasn't actually his.

Except dissolving in the midst of a genjutsu. That was his.

He was no fool. If he were trying to dispel a clone by illusion, he'd make it think it was dissolving. He'd asked, when Ibiki had arrived for his debrief.

Ibiki's eyes had lit, and shadowed. And, in the same tone people used to tell someone their family was dead, he said they hadn't built that into the jutsu.

Kakashi guessed it was a small miracle the man hadn't killed him then and there.

He looked out over the village that wasn't his to protect, and wondered if killing him would constitute murder. He remembered everything, he had a life. He could probably argue to live.

And he had half the chakra he should, because he--Hatake--had split it to create the perfect copy of the Copy Ninja. He couldn't protect the village with half the chakra.

The sun rose, spilling light over rooftops and monuments, over the silent buildings that were the Uchiha compound, down streets just beginning to fill with noise and movement. The sun rose over a village that wasn't his, and in a deep shadow half a block away, he saw an ANBU hunter shift position and re-settle, faceless mask turned to watch Iruka's window.

Whatever a clone remembered, it didn't have a life of its own. He would know that, be ready to be absorbed back into his maker, if the jutsu hadn't scrambled everything.

Kakashi stepped away from the window, and wondered if he would see the end of the day.

**

Even though he was feigning sleep, the children kept sneaking glances toward the jounin in the corner of the classroom. Iruka smiled sweetly and assigned them all a pop quiz. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw the mask twitch: a brief crook of narrow lips under dark cloth.

It was good. Kakashi hadn't been smiling that morning, nor on the walk to the school, nor at the first break. The man was pale and drawn, and the lack of rumpled bedclothes made Iruka suspect he hadn't slept at all. Whether that was by choice or because of nightmares, Iruka hadn't asked. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Kakashi was still faking sleep when the lunch bell rang, and Iruka escorted the children out of the room. He stood in the doorway, watching the last of them tumble down the hall, then turned and looked back.

"They're gone."

Kakashi grunted and looked up, cracking his single visible eye. "How long have you known I was awake?"

He snorted. "Please. I'm a sensei. I know everything that happens in my classroom."

A tired chuckle worked it's way laboriously out of a narrow chest.

"Do you want some food?" Iruka pulled out his lunch, packed the night before, and unloaded two bento boxes.

"Hm. No, I'm fine."

"You have to eat something." He could feel his brows draw in, a frown tug at his mouth. "You'll waste away. You're not exactly overweight."

The smile Kakashi gave him wasn't true, nor even the bright beaming grin that arced his eye into a crescent. "It's all right."

Iruka unloaded his own lunch, sitting at his desk and trying not to let Kakashi starving affect him. He failed pretty spectacularly. "I'm sure they didn't want to do what they did."

From the blank look on the other man's face, Iruka decided he'd guessed wrong. Whatever was bothering Kakashi, it wasn't that his own ANBU had tortured him. He was about to ask what was wrong--not that that had worked yet--when a bellow from the cafeteria had him rising. "Never a dull moment," he muttered, and raced down the hall.

He was only gone for five minutes, but when he returned there were voices in the room.

"--leave the village."

"I won't."

"We'll be keeping a guard on you."

"I know."

Iruka stepped around the corner, frowning at the two cloaked and masked figures looming over Kakashi, who was still slouched in his chair. "What is this?"

They turned as one, staring at him from hollowed out eyes and rictus smiles. "Sensei," one said, and they bowed together. Then both leaped for the door, vanishing into sunlight as if it had been full dark.

"What was that?" He turned back to Kakashi, scowling further as the man pulled his mask back up. He wasn't fast enough to hide the seal painted in ink on his throat. The one over his eye had faded days ago.

"Welcoming committee. They're begging me to join the PTA, but I just don't have time..." He settled back again and closed his eyes, and even though Iruka spoke afterward, he couldn't get Kakashi to respond.

**

He didn't wake screaming, because he never woke screaming. But his body was on fire, and there were tears streaming down his face. Rubbing moisture off his cheeks, trying to convince himself the pain was only phantom, he rolled to his feet and walked to the window.

It was still full dark out. His body throbbed with remembered agony that had never happened. Only the burn in his shoulder was real.

As real as a clone's pain could be, anyway. Maybe it was all phantom pain. Phantom pain, phantom pleasure, phantom memories. What happened to a clone, anyway? It was reabsorbed into the greater being. It sounded vaguely religious, really. Disappear off the earth, return to whence he'd come, join the greater unconscious.

That was a little disturbing.

He took a deep breath of cool air, looking out at the view that was rapidly becoming familiar. Across the street was another ANBU, tucked in between two windows, almost hidden from view. Almost. Kakashi ignored him.

They were looking for a way to kill him, if they could. Without actually _killing_ him. They'd said as much the afternoon before. He'd known it was coming. He was living on borrowed time, now.

Kakashi leaned against the frame, closing his eyes and letting memories wash over him. That battle. His creation. Monkey, Ram, Dog. Twist the chakra _this_ way and warp it over _here_. A loop, not a circle, and running backward through the heart path--that was brilliant. Dangerous, but brilliant.

When it hit him, he laughed. Not a happy laugh of discovery, but the helpless, ironic laugh of a man facing the gallows. He knew how to break the jutsu. He leaned his head against the window and laughed and laughed and laughed until he cried.

"Kakashi?"

He turned, still leaning against the wall, and stared at the man watching him with concern in dark eyes. _Concern_. For a clone. A clone that might just be insane, judging by the laughter. Kakashi smiled brilliantly, allowing both eyes to close as if in great joy. "I know how to break the jutsu and solve everything."

He didn't see Iruka's hesitant smile, but somehow he could hear it. "Well, that's good, right?"

"It's brilliant. Just fucking brilliant." He could never tell anyone. He could live his half-life. Surely having two Copy Ninja would make up for them being at half power. Make up for them losing a good chunk of their jutsu, because they didn't have enough chakra.

He melted to the floor, still chuckling with despair.

"Kakashi?"

He shook his head and braced his head in his hands, elbows jammed on his bent knees.

The quiet pad of footsteps came closer. The rustle of cloth as Iruka knelt. He could smell the man, ink and bubbling brooks and the faint hint of soap. Fingertips ghosted over his bicep. "It's not good?"

There was an ANBU outside, waiting for him to try and bolt. He rubbed his hands over his face, removing all tears and fighting to get himself under control. His head hit the wall behind him with a thump, and he stared across the room. Above the stove, a clock stood out in eerie green. Two a.m.

His village to protect. And to protect it best, he had to dissolve into nothingness and let someone else take his place. Take his life. Did remembering it make it his life?

"Kakashi." The fingers slipped away. The voice was cautious. "You're scaring me."

"Am I?" He tried another smile, and found it nearly broke his face. Darkness was almost as good as a mask, though, at hiding his expressions. "Don't worry. There's a hunter across the street waiting to take me out if I lose my mind." Now he could see Iruka's face, moonlight and shadows in the darkened room. His eyes were black, his hair falling around broad cheekbones and brushing over strong shoulders.

"That isn't exactly reassuring."

Kakashi laughed again. "No, I suppose not." He took a breath and looked at Iruka, maskless and hiding nothing. He understood why his other self had slept with the man. Iruka was attractive, solid, exuded confidence. And of course he was a clone, because despite his attraction he hadn't once tried to get the chuunin into bed.

Iruka shuffled half a step back, one hand hidden in the folds of robe. There had to be a kunai involved, from the way shadows played off cloth. Kakashi couldn't blame him. He summoned another smile, this one honest. "I'm the clone."

Confusion was predominant on Iruka's face. Denial quickly followed. "No--"

"Yes."

"You can't know--"

"I can." He doubted it was his brilliant argument that convinced Iruka to be silent. But perhaps it was his tone, accepting of what had happened. Sometimes, the luck of the draw was against ninja.

Of course, he wasn't really a ninja.

"Are you sure?" Iruka asked finally.

Kakashi nodded. The kaleidescope of emotions from before had drained away, leaving him oddly numb.

To his credit, Iruka didn't argue. "I'm sorry." And there was that tone, again, of someone's death. Funny, how even ninja could be uncomfortable with death. They knew how to deal with it in the battlefield, when it was unexpected. But to stare into someone's eyes and know they were breathing their last few days...

Kakashi's gloomy musings were interrupted. "Is there anything I can do?"

He smiled. "Pity sex?"

Iruka's mouth twisted dryly. "I don't think so. You might vanish mid-orgasm, and how guilty would I feel?"

It tugged a reluctant laugh from Kakashi. He sat, mind drifting. "We should go to the Hokage tomorrow."

Iruka only nodded.

"And then..." He looked up, trying to put a bright slant on it. "Then you'll be fewer one houseguest."

The hidden kunai apparently tucked away, Iruka walked close and sat down as well, shoulder to shoulder with Kakashi, leaning against the wall. "You haven't been a bad houseguest. Except for the disgusting bandages in the shower."

Kakashi chuckled softly. "Sorry about that."

They sat in the quiet. No dogs barked. No children played.

"I think," Iruka began, "that I like you better than the other you." He shifted, giving Kakashi a three-quarter view of his scarred face. "I'll miss you."

"You've only known me for a week," Kakashi pointed out.

Iruka looked almost comically downcast. "I know. I get emotional."

The jounin's shoulders shook, mouth twitching up. "Not a good trait for a ninja."

"You're telling me."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, as the moon cast new shadows through the apartment window.

"How's your shoulder?"

"Hurts." Burns always did, he remembered. He hadn't ever had any, because he'd never had anything.

"Want me to put more salve on it?"

He shrugged. "Not much point."

"Might make it stop hurting."

It was tempting to say that it didn't matter if it he hurt; it wouldn't last much longer, anyway. He wasn't a real person. But that seemed a little too emotive, so Kakashi just shrugged and watched as Iruka gathered the things. He removed his shirt carefully, scooting away from the wall and turning his spine to the chuunin. Careful hands pulled away medical tape, applied with gel so it wouldn't stick so badly, and began to brush soothing ointment over burns and raw spots alike. The pain dulled into a background murmur, and Kakashi found himself relaxing.

"Do you really remember everything about... the other you?" Iruka asked.

He just nodded, trying not to be heartbroken over the friends he'd be leaving behind. He wouldn't, really. He'd be one with the other Kakashi, somehow. He just wouldn't be... himself. It wouldn't matter to them; they'd still have the other him.

"Are you sure you're--"

"Yes."

Iruka finished in silence. When he was done, he put the implements away. Kakashi just sat, his shirt bundled in his lap, staring at folds of cloth. Iruka kneeled in front of him, mirroring his position. Slowly, Kakashi looked up.

The chuunin reached out, brushing his hand over the seal painted on the pale skin of Kakashi's throat. "To keep you in the village."

It wasn't a question, but he nodded anyway. Warm skin slid over his flesh, a thumb tracing the outline of black ink.

"We could wait a few days. Do some things. Go see Tsunade next week."

He caught Iruka's wrist as the man's thumb swept down to the hollow between his collarbones. "Tomorrow." If he put it off, it would be too easy to keep putting it off.

Iruka didn't meet his gaze. Wordlessly, he nodded and took back his hand. "Tomorrow."

************

www[dot]jbmcdonald[dot]com --original work. I've written and published a het paranormal romance novel: I hope you'll check it out!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Kakashi sat in Tsunade's office, outwardly calm. His fingers didn't twitch, his feet didn't move, he wasn't biting his tongue or chewing on his lips. His gaze didn't even dart around the room.

His hokage sat across her desk, carefully reviewing what he'd given her. "Are you sure this will work?"

He nodded. In one corner he could see Iruka sitting, trying not to look unhappy about the proceedings.

Tsunade looked up at him, her gaze steady. "Could you do it now?"

It was a reasonable question. And the truth was, he probably could. End everything now, just like that. With no fanfare or anticipation. Counter the jutsu, let himself wisp into smoke and vanish.

_He wasn't going to die_.

The village was his to protect. And he could protect it best by remembering that it wasn't his at all.

"I could."

She watched him, waiting.

His hands didn't move. He didn't let his gaze stray. Iruka's words from the night before haunted him: They could wait. Buy more time.

He wasn't quite ready to die.

Kakashi took a breath, attention going to the slim figure he could see from the corner of his eye. "I would like to wait."

Tsunade's pale eyebrows rose.

Kakashi didn't let himself react, though it was difficult. He asked for a stay of execution, and she looked at him like he was demanding the village. "A day," he said dryly. "I'd like a day to... put my affairs in order."

She leaned across the desk, eyebrows still lifted. "You don't have affairs."

In the corner, Iruka shifted. Kakashi glanced at him, saw the scowl on the man's face, and looked away. "Assuming we don't have any intel that says the village is in mortal danger in the next twenty-four hours, and you can spare my full strength for that amount of time, I think it's fair to ask for a day to settle myself." His words were a sarcastic drawl, and nothing more.

Tsunade sat back and nodded once. "A day, then. Thank you for this information... and the service to your village."

He nodded once and pushed to his feet, heart heavy and steps dragging.

It wasn't his village.

**

He was aware of the ANBU who'd been following them since leaving the Tower. Iruka had been pretty sure it had been shadowing them for the last twenty-four hours, but the last few it hadn't even tried to hide its presence.

He couldn't even tell, behind the mask and the concealing cloak, if it was male or female. It was simply a bone-white face above a black shape, death with a cheerfully crafted smile. He had never hated Konoha's Special Ops before, but he did now.

The creature stood under the dubious shade of a young cherry tree, a blot of darkness on an otherwise sunny day. Iruka glared at it because Kakashi wouldn't, but received only a rictus grin in return.

There was no comfort to offer the solitary figure standing beside the monument. Lean shoulders bent under the weight of responsibility, hands in deep pockets to hide graceful fingers that could bring death, command lightning, and gesture with lazy aptitude. His pale face was hidden behind mast and hitai-ate, and, more than that Iruka thought, the shield of silver hair.

He'd spoken only in response to direct questions since leaving the Tower, and once here he'd not said anything. Tomorrow he would, by choice, be executed.

For the good of the village.

Iruka glanced again at the ANBU, standing perfectly still. It was silly for a chuunin to pretend he was keeping watch on Kakashi, the copy of the Copy Ninja. Especially with someone so much higher qualified also standing watching. But he couldn't bear to leave the man, either.

They'd been at the memorial stone for hours, watching the sun follow the arc it drew every day, every week, every month, every year. The arc this particular Kakashi would see only once more.

How did you offer comfort to a clone? Iruka would have rather just remained silent, but nothing was changing, nothing was getting better. Being afraid of saying the wrong thing didn't make silence a comfort. And he might say the right thing.

He shored up his bravery with that thought, and walked until he stood on Kakashi's sighted side. He couldn't even say that soon the man would be with his friends and family again--because he wasn't a man, and he wouldn't. He would just... vanish.

The jounin took a breath, slim ribs expanding. Without looking at Iruka, he spoke. "Nearly everyone I care about is here." He reached out, brushing fingertips over the worn stone, across a single name. Uchiha Obito.

Iruka glanced at the covered Sharingan eye. He didn't know how Kakashi had come to have a Sharingan. It wasn't widely spoken of. "Was he... a relation?"

The smile under the mask seemed humorless. "No. He was part of my genin team."

Iruka didn't look back at the stone, but kept his gaze trained on the man before him. "He must have been very special."

Kakashi snorted. "He was a brat. We did nothing but argue." His hand came away from the cool tablet, and lifted to brush over his hitai-ate. "I like to think we came to an understanding, just before he died." Then his expression clouded over. "Well. I suppose Hatake and he came to an understanding."

Hesitantly, Iruka reached out, putting a tentative hand on the black ninja basics that covered Kakashi's arm. "You're part of Hatake. You came to an understanding, too."

For the first time in hours, Kakashi turned to look at him. His single visible eye was inscrutable. "Is that your form of comfort? To tell me I actually experienced what I remember?" The tone wasn't angry, but curious.

Iruka pulled his hand back anyway. "I--"

"I suppose it isn't bad. It means I can pretend that the memories I have, the life I lived, were actually mine rather than figments of my imagination."

Iruka nodded slowly, keeping an eye on the other man. So far, he looked more thoughtful than annoyed. "Yeah," Iruka said, and hoped he hadn't just given a clone an idea that it was all right to remain, even if it damaged Hatake.

The thought of the clone dying, despite memories and having lived a life, gave his heart an odd twinge. He tried not to think about it too much.

"Well." Kakashi turned to look back at the memorial once more. "In that case, I'm going to miss everything."

Iruka looked at the stone as well, long habit pulling his eyes to his own parents' names. He walked a little ways away, kneeling to study them. "You won't miss it," he said, not sure if he was being comforting or not. "You'll still be around. Inside Hatake. Still alive, really."

The drawl was unmistakably unimpressed. "Somehow, I don't think it's quite the same thing." Kakashi stepped over, kneeling as well. His fingertips drifted over the names of Iruka's parents, much like they had the Uchiha boy. "Family?"

"My mother and father. They died during the Fox attack."

"Do you have anyone left?" It wasn't a question people normally asked. But then, these weren't normal circumstances.

Iruka turned to look at Kakashi's nearly hidden profile, and decided a man about to die should be given certain allowances. "I have an aunt and a cousin, still. My aunt raised me, and my cousin passed the academy only to be failed by his jounin sensei, so now he teaches self-defense to civilians." He hesitated, unsure if he should ask, and finally did. "You?"

Kakashi rocked back to sit down, linking his arms around his spread knees. "My mother died when I was a baby--chakra sickness. My father killed himself when I was a child." Iruka winced, and Kakashi glanced over. "He was the White Fang."

White Fang was before Iruka's time, but he was a teacher--history was engraved into his head. He nodded slowly. "Great ninja." Until he'd fallen.

Kakashi slanted him a look as if the jounin knew just what went unsaid. His tone, when he spoke, was bland. "Yes."

Iruka altered the subject slightly. "No other family?"

Slim shoulders rose and fell. "The Fourth was my jounin sensei. I'm the last of my genin team. Friends I made in ANBU--" he glanced toward the gargoyle in the shade, "--are gone now." Shoulders lifted and dropped again. "That's everyone."

There wasn't anything to say to that. Iruka fell silent. The silence wasn't oppressive, though, once broken. Kakashi's mind had eased, at least for the time being. The sun was shining and the air smelled like stone and grass and cherry blossoms. The breezes played, whisking around one moment and resting the next, caressing skin and fluffing hair.

Iruka took a breath and settled more comfortably, leaning against the monument. "Well, as your last night in Konoha--" or anywhere, "--what would you like to do?"

Kakashi glanced at him--taking the ANBU out of his field of sight, if not mind. "I'm guessing I'll spend the night in the ninja barracks. You don't have to baby-sit me anymore."

Iruka shook his head, smiling. "Not babysitting. Hanging out. It may come as a shock, but I kinda like you. I can think of worse ways to spend my evenings." It was with some surprise that he realized he meant it. He'd been attracted to the Kakashi he'd met the night he was drunk. Taken the man home and had alcohol-soaked sex, and liked that, too. He hadn't liked him the next morning, but...

But this man was just as attractive, and he _was_ nice.

He broke the man's gaze and looked away, as if Kakashi could read his thoughts through his eyes. "I have some little money set aside for a rainy day." He glanced at the cloudless sky and smiled. "This seems rainy enough."

Kakshi's chuckle was warm. "Well, in that case... I do have something I'd like to try."

Iruka looked back at him, nodding easily. "Sure. What is it?"

**

"You've wanted to go _bowling_ all your life?"

Kakashi beamed, a bowling ball perched in one palm. "I always thought it looked like fun." Mostly, there were no memories attached to it. Might as well make some new ones. Some that were just his. Not that he was going to share that with Iruka.

Iruka's expression since they'd walked into the bowling place was classic. That, he probably would share with Iruka.

He turned and stood at the edge of the wax-slick lane, eying the pins at the bottom. Carefully, he kneeled and set the ball on the ground, then gave it a little chakra-nudge.

It began to roll ponderously toward the end. Behind him, he heard Iruka laugh in defeat. "You're _insane_," the chuunin called.

Kakashi sat down and folded his legs. The ball continued to roll, veering ever so slowly to the left. Kakashi leaned to the right. The ball continued to the left. Kakashi lifted both hands and moved them right. The ball hit the gutter and fell in with an ignoble _clunk_. Kakashi let his ribcage collapse, falling forward until his forehead smacked the mock-wood. Behind him, Iruka laughed harder.

"Get out of the way," the chuunin said as Kakashi's ball clattered past the pins and into the machinery. "You're _pathetic_ at bowling."

"You break my heart." Kakashi stood, shuffling away to give Iruka space. "I'm a gentle flower, and you wound me with your words." He watched as Iruka took three running steps and slung his ball out over the alley. It spun down the little ramp, sounding like low thunder, and crashed into half of the pins at the end.

Kakashi was more impressed by the way Iruka's pants tightened when he did that funny little bowling pose. Still, he managed to yank his gaze up before the other man turned around. "Your shot again," he said cheerfully, more than happy to keep watching the chuunin.

"You'd do better at this if you'd take some pointers," Iruka said, waiting for his ball to roll up the machine.

Kakashi smiled. "You offering to give me lessons?"

Dark eyes flicked up to his, and in a movement almost too fast to follow, they swept up and down Kakashi's body. Then Iruka's lids lowered and he picked up his ball as calmly as if he _hadn't_ just been checking Kakashi out. "Sure, if you want."

Kakashi contemplated his chances, and finally decided it didn't matter what they were. He'd be no more tomorrow; he might as well try. "I'd listen to lessons, Iruka-sensei." When the man looked up, amused, Kakashi offered a cheerful grin.

"Well, in that case Kakashi-kun--" Kakashi barked a surprised laugh, and was rewarded by Iruka's quick smile, "--pay close attention. You stand so far back from the line. Three steps forward, swing, and release." He suited actions to words, and took down another respectable five pins.

Not that Kakashi was pin-counting. He was still eyeing Iruka's... form. "I think I need you to demonstrate again," he said innocently.

Iruka snorted, turning to face him, hands on his hips. "Nice try. Your turn."

His hands spread with his grin. "But, Iruka-sensei, it's the last request of a dying man."

"Right." Iruka walked up, grabbed Kakashi's mask, and tugged it down. "You're a much worse liar without that."

"I didn't lie! It's my last request, and I'm a dying man!" It was hard to be sad, though, while Iruka was giving him that knowing smirk.

The younger ninja picked up Kakashi's ball, marched over, and set it in Kakashi's hands. "Turn to face your alley."

Kakashi did so, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his ribs below the burns. He could feel body heat behind him, sense the movement of the other ninja and he was pushed and steered to the correct spot.

"Now, take your position."

"Why, sensei, so forward," he murmured. He could hear Iruka's sputtering laugh, feel breath on the back of his neck. He smiled, black cloth pooled around his throat.

"Now, step forward. Good, again. Good--don't hit me in the nuts with your backswing!"

Kakashi doubled over with laughter as Iruka jumped away, clutching his crotch as if he'd been struck. The Copy Ninja dropped his ball. It wobbled slowly away, crashed into the gutter, and kept rolling. "I can see," he wheezed, "how your technique really helps."

The ball stopped halfway down the lane.

"Buddha's eyeteeth," Iruka muttered.

Kakashi laughed even harder. "There's only one thing that's going to help me win now," he declared, turning and walking out of the bowling pit.

"What's that?" Iruka called.

"Alcohol."

"I don't think that'll improve your aim!"

Kakashi just kept walking, chuckling still. "I didn't mean for _me_," he said under his breath. A glance back showed him Iruka grabbing another ball and rolling it purposefully into the gutter, like an oversized game of pool. Knock one into the other...

They both stopped. From a distance, Iruka's dejected slump was still visible.

Cracking up, Kakashi made his way to the bar--he'd decided every bowling alley needed a bar to keep the patrons playing a game so futile--and leaned against the cherrywood. "Three beers. And send one," he turned and pointed to a corner where a now familiar masked man cloaked in darkness stood. "Over there."

"To... to the ANBU?" the bartender checked warily.

"The one and only." With a smile, Kakashi paid for the drinks and then took his two and headed back.

Iruka had managed to chakra-walk down the gutter, shove both balls along, and was on his way back when Kakashi returned.

"Very well done," Kakashi said dryly, handing one pint to the chuunin. He waited until he was sure Iruka was about to drink, then added in a bored tone, "I'm glad to see you can handle balls." Much to his delight, Iruka nearly spat beer halfway across the room.

Then dark eyes lit on him, glittering. "Too bad you weren't the one here a night earlier, or you'd know that already."

Kakashi paused, mind pondering the possibilities. Then he took a long drink, to the sound of Iruka's laughter.

**

In the end, he didn't get either of them drunk, and while he spent the evening flirting and making dry innuendo--which increased when he learned Iruka gave as good as he got--he realized he just didn't have the heart for sex. Funny, what you wanted on your last night alive. It wasn't what he'd expected.

They sat on the edge of Iruka's apartment building, ignoring the ANBU who lurked half a block away, swinging their legs out over the sleeping village.

"The boar," Kakashi continued, pointing to a constellation of stars. "Chasing his lady-love, the street-sweeper."

Iruka laughed, and it was like a balm for a burned man's soul. A strong arm pointed to another set of stars. "The Weeple-Wobbler, and--"

"Wait, wait, wait," Kakashi interrupted, shaking his head. "The _what_? That sounds made up. You're not even trying."

The look the chuunin turned on him was appalled. "Made up? I am not! Didn't you see the Weeple-Wobbler when you were a kid?"

Kakashi stared. Something in his expression must have been begging for more inanity, because Iruka continued in song-form, watching Kakashi as if he expected the man to chime in.

"Ohhhhhh, down by the valley where the hog-tree grows,  
"Liiiives the Weeple-Wobbler!  
"He plants his corn every year when it snows,  
"Siiiiiilly Weeple-Wobbler!"

Kakashi's disbelief turned to horror. "Stop. You're making my _mind bleed_."

That only seemed to energize the younger man, who added arm gestures. "Come join in the fun with his merry band, they'll show you friendship and give you a hand, ooooooh the Weeple-Wobbler!"

In the silence that followed, Kakashi thought he could hear his sanity crack. "That was the most excruciating thing I've ever heard."

"It was my favorite show as a kid."

"And I bet you were the darling of every teacher, and wore your underwear pre-wedgied to save the other kids time."

Iruka cracked up, flopping back to lean on his elbows. "I was _four_. It was a show! They had muppets."

Kakashi nodded consideringly. "I think I'm beginning to see why we almost lost the Third Ninja War..." He earned a punch for his remark, and didn't try to dodge. Unmasked, his teeth caught the moonlight when he grinned.

"You are socially inept, you know that? Some genius. Doesn't even know the Weeple-Wobbler."

"Maybe I'm normal, and you plebeians were stunted by the Wobbler-Woobly."

"_Weeple-Wobbler._"

"Weepy-Wipsy?" He got hit again. It was worth it. He glanced down, looking at the chuunin stretched beside him under the early morning dark. Knowing he'd be dead soon made him brave. Or made him stupid. "You know, Iruka, if I were going to be alive a while longer, I think I'd like you. I'd probably stick around and make a nuisance of myself. Probably try to seduce you."

"You tried that earlier," Iruka cut in, with a lazy smile and closed eyes. "There was beer. Lousy attempt."

"Yes, well. I had impending death on my mind." It was funny, how it could turn into a joke.

"Excuses, excuses... if you were less of a genius, you wouldn't have thought of how to reverse the jutsu. You have no one but yourself to blame."

For a moment, Kakashi thought maybe that was a little much. Then he gave into the urge to laugh, enjoying the answering smile it tugged from Iruka. The man was stretched out, the moonlight dusting his features with ghostly white and pale blue. The scar across his nose was a bladeline, the curve of his jaw was flint. There was strength there, more than just how fast he could run or how many jutsu he could wield. There was a surety of purpose and spirit, and solidity and steadfastness that said no matter what happened, he would cope. He'd survived a great deal, and he'd survive the rest, too.

His eyes opened, dark pools under thick lashes and the black twin lines of brows. For a long moment he looked at Kakashi, and Kakashi wondered what he saw. Man, clone, jounin, fake. Then a hand reached up and out, landing comfortingly on his bicep. A rough thumb rubbed over soft cloth, smoothing a patch of skin under shirt.

"If you were going to be around longer," Iruka said quietly, "I think I'd like you, too. I might let you make a nuisance of yourself." He paused, considering. "I might even let you seduce me." A smile danced around his mouth, softening the strong planes of his face. "You'd have to be good, though, or I'd tell the kids you have a tiny hotdog, and they'd tell their parents, and next thing you know people in Mist would hear about your itty dick."

For a long moment, darkness and quiet reigned. Then Kakashi snickered. Snorted. And laughed. "I'll keep that in mind, Iruka-sensei."

Iruka grinned, but didn't move his hand away. As the laughter died down between them, the soothing motion of his thumb over Kakashi's arm and the steady whisper of their breathing was the only sign of life down the street.

"If I get reabsorbed into Hatake," Kakashi said slowly, "and my addition makes him less of an ass... would you consider seeing me again?"

"No." There wasn't even a moment's thought. "I'm sorry. He lost that right."

Part of him was disappointed but, much to his surprise, most of him wasn't. He nodded. "Will you go with me to see the Hokage tomorrow? You don't have to. I'll have an escort. But I wouldn't mind..." He wouldn't mind a friendly witness to his death. Everyone else thought of him as just a clone, but he didn't _feel_ like a clone, and if anyone would understand that...

Iruka sat up beside him, hand sliding up over Kakashi's unburned shoulder and down his back, rubbing along the line of his spine. "I'd be honored to go with you tomorrow." He waited a beat, then added, "You shouldn't have to do this alone."

Something inside Kakashi uncoiled. He looked away, nodded once, and leaned into the warm body against him. It seemed like he'd gone through every other death alone; it was only fitting that he face this one by himself, too. But he didn't have to. He was dying: There was no longer a reason to be emotionless and strong, the perfect ninja. It was all right to let someone else in, for at least these last few hours.

He couldn't have chosen a better someone.

************


	6. Chapter 6

One last note, guys! If you're at all interested in paranormal het romance, please check out my webpage at www[dot]jbmcdonald[dot]com. I'd like to make my living writing full time. Means I need to sell some books. ;) (IT IS ONLY $3.50! Consider it a Christmas present to me. :D) Come March I'll have a yaoi novel out, too!

One more last note: You can find all my Naruto fic at jbmcdragon[dot]livejournal[dot]com, linked right on the first post. It stays updated pretty well.

Onto the story! The Epilogue is a PWP and WILL NOT be posted here. You'll have to check out my livejournal page for that. But it's not important to the story, anyway. ;)

Chapter Six

The ease of the night before was gone when Kakashi woke the next morning. He couldn't eat breakfast. It didn't matter if he ate or not, really. It wasn't like he'd need the sustenance. Conversation, so comforting the day before, was stilted. Asking Iruka to accompany him had been a mistake. He shouldn't have done so. He could be unhappy for a few hours before he died; this, on the other hand, would continue to affect Iruka afterward. It would have been kinder to leave the man alone.

He couldn't do it.

Even watching the chuunin wander the house in flannel pants and scars after a shower wasn't interesting. His mind was too preoccupied with everything and nothing. It wasn't like being in a battle, knowing you could die at any moment. It was...

It was awful.

When the knock on the door sounded, it wasn't too soon. Kakashi stood as if pulled, staring at the wooden planks without moving. It was Iruka, dressed now in plain ninja blacks, who walked from the little kitchen and opened the door.

The ANBU outside inclined his head and stepped away. The command was unstated.

Slowly, Kakashi stood. Desperation thrummed through his muscles, an instinctive will to live as old as humanity. Maybe the jutsu wouldn't work. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the hokage would change her mind, and decide two Kakashis were better than one.

Iruka pulled on his ninja vest, tightened his ponytail, and stepped up next to Kakashi wordlessly. Silent support, if nothing else.

Kakashi was glad Iruka was there. He took a deep breath, taking strength from the other man, and walked forward.

They didn't run to the Tower. They gathered an escort, but no one tried to hurry him.

Meandering was good for all sorts of things. Hiding exhaustion, for instance. Hiding hurts and fatigue. Hiding dread and despair and the trembling of his hands, tucked into his pockets as if he didn't have a care in the world.

The Tower appeared too soon.

They did not, thank all that was holy, make him wait. Instead the lot of them--six, now, including Kakashi and Iruka--walked quietly into Tsunade's office where Hatake and Anko already waited, with the hokage herself and another two ANBU. Kakashi's escort bowed and vanished, one by one, until only the ninja who'd knocked on the door was left.

Tsunade gestured to a chair.

"I'd rather stand," Kakashi said, highly aware that Hatake was slouching lazily a few feet away. He didn't look at his other-self. He couldn't quite cope with it.

"Whatever is best. If you're ready to reverse the jutsu?" Tsunade stood as well, leaving empty chairs in the room--all but one, holding Anko as she trimmed her nails with a kunai. Kakashi could feel Iruka's presence just behind him, a wall against his chakra. He wondered if he'd have enough consciousness left when this was over to recognize the energy as familiar, even as he knew he wouldn't. He'd be dispersed and swallowed back into the whole. The very thought made a void in his chest.

But there was nothing left, no reason to delay. Kakashi nodded at Tsunade once, focus turning inward. He remembered the pattern, behind the lid of his Sharingan eye. He could see it, twist it, add a punch here and a new symbol there. Run it backward through this pathway, ignore the crisp burning of pain at the unnatural movement, focus hotter and brighter, and--knowing in a moment he would be gone--hold the memories of his friends and family tight, keep the memories he'd made close, and release the jutsu.

The world popped and burst, shattering around him in a kaleidoscope of pain and color.

It was a long moment before he realized he was still self-aware. He waited for it to vanish, even as he clung to his thoughts.

He was still self-aware. He took a breath, and another, waiting for it to disappear.

He was still self-aware.

He opened his eyes, and saw Tsunade's gaze flicking from him, sideways, and back again, with a look of consternation on her face. He turned.

Anko had stopped paring her nails away and was sitting, staring in astonishment at a bare spot of floor with a scorch mark singed into the carpet.

"Kakashi," Iruka said quietly. A hand settled on his shoulder.

Kakashi swayed under the weight of it. The weight of flesh and muscle. Of bone and tendon and sinew and _self awareness_. He was here, and the other Kakashi was gone. He'd seen himself dissolving into smoke--

But he was _here_, and his heartbeat was thundering in his skull suddenly. He staggered as his vision spiraled down to almost nothing, while the noises around him made little sense as they beat haphazardly against his eardrums. His legs buckled.

Hands caught him under the arms, someone cursed, a body pressed against his back. As the world swam into view again, he realized he was folded over on the floor, his forehead to the carpet.

One voice penetrated first, the quietest one, near his ear, coming from the body bent over his while a hand rubbed up and down his spine. "Just breathe, Kakashi. That's it. Keep breathing. Nice and slow." Iruka. Kakashi focused on the soothing tone, pulling air deeply into his lungs.

"I'm alive."

Iruka laughed. "Yes."

"Not the clone."

"No."

"I suppose," Tsunade said acerbically, as if his living--and proving her theories wrong--was a personal affront, "that we should have figured you were the real one when you came up with a way to break the jutsu first."

Ibiki's voice chimed in next, bone dry. "If you're done swooning..."

Kakashi sat straight up, smashing his head into Iruka's face. Iruka reeled away while Kakashi clutched his skull and they both cursed.

"You can't be the real one!" Anko yelled from across the room. "He was the real one!"

Ibiki came to the rescue. "Apparently not." He knelt, and Kakashi felt the whisper of healing chakra slide into him, easing his headache. "Good job, shinobi," the man murmured for Kakashi's ears alone. Then he was standing, moving away, and Anko was still complaining.

And Kakashi _remembered_, suddenly. Memories that had belonged to a well-made clone. "Oh, _Anko_," he drawled. "The first afternoon?"

"What? He was willing!"

"Kotetsu!" Tsunade called. "Iruka's nose is broken. Get him to the hospital, would you?"

Kakashi looked up and around a little wildly, gaze finally landing on the chuunin. Both tan hands were cupped over his face, his eyes were watering, and blood crept down his wrists. "'M okay!" The words were muffled. He didn't look okay.

"Izumo, get Kakashi home."

"I'm okay." He grabbed a nearby chair and pushed to his feet, determined to follow Kotetsu and Iruka. The world spun. His grip tightened.

"Yeah, you look okay. You're about to _fall over_. Go home and get some sleep. Your chakra's all over the map.

"Wait." He tore his gaze away as Iruka and Kotetsu vanished around the corner, turning to look at Tsunade instead. "I need some brain bleach. I keep seeing Anko naked."

"You jackass!" Anko threw a chair at him. Izumo blocked it.

"I'll send a bottle of vodka along," Tsunade said blandly. "Now get into bed."

He wanted to argue. He didn't have the energy.

**

He woke to a quiet thumping. Kakashi looked around his tiny apartment blearily, trying to discern where the noise was coming from. It was dark, the blinds drawn closed though they glowed with outside light.

Something thumped again.

Kakashi rolled out of bed, hit the floor, and dragged himself to his feet. He kicked free of the covers, staggering to the door. "What?" he mumbled, yanking it up.

Iruka's eyebrows rose, and he took half a step back. The man's expression went wary and guarded. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

Dragging a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to bring some order to it, Kakashi stepped away from the door to let the chuunin in. "I am. I'm fine. Your nose--?"

With a wry smile, Iruka reached up to touch it. His other hand gripped the handle of a bag. "Healed. The medics are getting better and better. You haven't had any more cases of swooning?"

Kakashi straightened, watching the chuunin take off his sandals and come inside. "I didn't swoon."

"Yeah, you did. I caught you. I could get you a fainting couch, if you think it might happen again--"

"I did not _faint_!"

Iruka's eyes twinkled. Kakashi glared for a moment longer, then huffed a laugh.

"So," Iruka said. "You're alive."

Kakashi spread his arms and bowed.

"Feel good?"

Self consciousness had him raising one hand, ruffling it through his hair. He'd said things to Iruka, things he wouldn't have said if he'd known he was going to live. Looking back over them, though... well, a lot of them were embarrassing. But not one of them did he regret. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It does."

Iruka glanced around the studio apartment. "You worried Tsunade, you know. After you swooned."

The glance flicked at him made Kakashi suspect he was being baited. He lifted a single silver eyebrow and otherwise ignored the comment. "Oh?"

"You've been asleep for over twenty-four hours."

That gave him pause. He turned, glancing around his apartment as if something would tell him what day it was. Only the calendar, and that gave him a whole month to choose from. "I have not."

"You did. You fainted--good thing I was there to catch you--broke my nose, and then slept for twenty-four hours."

He couldn't stand it. "I did not _faint!_"

"The bad news is, you did. It's even in your medical chart." Iruka grinned, showing teeth. "The good news is, I brought you food, and had you not swooned I wouldn't have." He lifted the bag he still held, and for the first time Kakashi realized it smelled like food.

"You're a saint," he said, with all the honesty of a dying man.

Iruka chuckled. "I rescue damsels in distress, too. Only in my spare time."

"And catch fainting jounin." Kakashi took the bag, the ring of Iruka's laughter following him. There were containers stacked carefully one on top of another, enough for two people. He pulled down plates and piled rice and sweet and sour pork on top, chicken basted in some sort of lemon dressing, snow peas and broccoli swimming in sauce. His mouth watered. His stomach certainly agreed with Iruka: it had been twenty-four hours.

And with that thought, his bladder chimed in.

"Damn," he muttered, and handed a plate and chopsticks to the other man before heading for the bathroom. Surely, he thought a few moments later, he'd woken and answered Nature's Call at some point before. That, or he was much more impressed with his body's ability to put off that particular call.

The last shreds of sleep cleared from his eyes as he walked back out to the main room, seeing Iruka on the futon--folded back into a couch--with a plate balanced on his knees.

Kakashi was alive. Alive to smell food and to eat dinner with a friend--alive to _have_ a friend. A friend licking sauce off a chopstick before snapping up a bite of pale meat.

Kakashi picked up his plate slowly, considering. Mentally tracking his train of thought. He was _alive_. That just wasn't getting old any time soon. His whole body felt halfway electric. "Did Tsunade come up with a theory on why I lived and he didn't?" There was no need to specify 'he.'

"Just that you were the real one. That anybody could have reported what happened, including a clone, and that the level of thought you'd given everything should have been a clue. You were trying to figure it all out and worrying, which any good ninja would do, while your clone was boinking Anko."

Kakashi winced, assaulted with images. "Please don't remind me."

Iruka laughed.

Kakashi smiled softly, looking at him again. Over the last days, he'd made a friend. A friend who'd implied the attraction was mutual. Without the stress of a looming execution... boinking seemed like a much better idea. In fact, as alive as he felt... Kakashi ate a snow pea and considered the chuunin, the way late afternoon light crept through the blinds and turned individual strands of black hair liquid gold, the way it gilded the man's strong profile. Broad hands and callused fingers, muscles rounded under ninja blacks. The line of a scar across his nose.

"If you keep staring, you'll grow hair on your palms," Iruka said without looking up.

Kakashi smiled slowly, ambling to the futon and sitting down as well. "Glad to know. I'm alive."

Iruka grinned at him, taking obvious pleasure in that very fact. "I know."

"I did say I might make a nuisance of myself."

A new light entered Iruka's eyes. He leaned back, watching Kakashi thoughtfully. "Hmmm. It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"I did say I might seduce you." Kakashi put his plate on the low table. He was hungry, but there were much better things to do with his time.

Iruka tapped the ends of his chopsticks against his mouth, pondering. "Yeah. You're awfully hard on the eyes." Kakashi took his plate. He didn't protest. "Maybe if you're _really_ a genius, I might let you."

Kakashi smiled slowly. "I think I can prove my worth."

"Oh?" Iruka looked doubtful.

"I can sing the Weeple-Wobbler song, even though I've only heard it once."

That brought a surprised laugh, and he leaned forward quickly, trapping it and swallowing it down. The mouth under his was still curved with a smile, even as Iruka pressed back, a hand sliding up into Kakashi's hair.

There were a lot of things he would have missed about life. This was definitely one of them.

--End

* * *

Did you enjoy this? AWESOME. Try this sneak peek from _By Degrees,_ my yaoi novel due out in March:

Tim's fingers flattened out as he followed the line of hair to where it smoothed down the center of Con's stomach.

Con inhaled slowly, trying to bank his arousal. His muscles tightened, shuddering against Tim's hands.

"Are you ticklish?" Tim asked, surprised.

"Not... exactly."

"You shivered." It was almost an accusation. Con could practically hear the wheels spinning in Tim's head; you shivered, you must be ticklish.

"Yeah," Con said.

Tim traced idle patterns on Con's stomach, looking at him thoughtfully. Then his fingers caught on Con's belly button, distracting him again. His hand slid lower, stopping where the little trail of hair vanished under the waistband of Con's jeans. Fingers skimmed along the edge, thumb flicking at the button.

Oh, God, Con had to stop that line of touch right now. "Do I smell like my shirt?" It was the first thing that popped into his mind.

Tim started to lean over, lost his balance, rose up on his knees, and swung across so that he was on all fours, hands on either side of Con's head, knees on either side of his waist. Then he lowered himself, leaning down until they were tantalizingly close, his face inches from Con's neck and shoulder. Con felt heat trapped between them. Tim's shirt brushed against his stomach. His muscles tightened. Breath whispered against his neck with each of Tim's exhalations. As distractions went, Con thought it was effective -- on both of them.

"Yeah." The warmth between them went damp with the word. Then Tim sat up, rump coming down on Con's hips a hair above his erection. Con considered wiggling and, at the last moment, decided against it.

Tim's hands skimmed over Con's chest, shaping his torso, rubbing back up again in long, sweeping motions. "You have big muscles."

"They're for carrying people out of burning buildings." Con smiled.

Tim returned it absently, then caught his lower lip in his teeth. He swallowed, pupils dilated, breathing shallow. Con had guessed right, then: Tim got off on men, but didn't like giving up control. He nearly laughed. Hell, he didn't mind letting someone else set the pace.

Tim squirmed against him, thighs rubbing against Con's hips, butt against his crotch briefly. Con bit back a sigh of appreciation, and wondered how he could get Tim to speed things up a little. Tim leaned closer, skimming a finger along Con's jaw, up around the cup of his ear, into his hair.

"Soft."

"Does your mouth still feel funny?" Con stared at Tim's lips; not terribly far away.

Tim's tongue slipped out and back in. "Kinda." It wasn't the kiss Con was hoping for.

"Timmy," he murmured, trying to seem soft and harmless -- not easy when you were over six foot and built with muscle. "Can I touch you, too?"

* * *

And from _Treasure Hunting_, my paranormal het romance that's up for sale now over at www[dot]jbmcdonald[dot]com:

Light slid over his flesh as he moved, creating patterns and shadows where there were none. He edged closer until Meg could feel his body heat pressing up against her.

"I don't even know you," he said, sounding a little frustrated.

Meg snorted and closed the rest of the distance. "Don't you know guys aren't supposed to want to know someone? Guys are just supposed to have mindless sex all the time."

He laughed, dark and quiet. "Of course. I apologize. Whatever was I thinking?"

"And you're still talking," Meg pointed out, sliding her hand up the back of his neck, pulling him down toward her for a kiss. His lips were warm, soft without being feminine, his hair silky under her fingers. Then his arm shifted, hand splaying across the small of her back, spreading heat and making rivulets of pleasure cascade down her spine. He shifted her effortlessly, single arm tightening and pulling her closer until her hip pressed in against his. All thoughts of warm softness evaporated in that single tug, carefully restrained power suddenly obvious in the ease with which he moved her.

Meg squeaked at the initial pull, unused to someone strong enough to do as they pleased. Her hands tightened, one on his neck, the other on his good shoulder. A chuckle rumbled through his chest, and snugged close against him she could feel as well as hear it. Heat spread throughout her body like lightning, skin electrified. Santiago's mouth shifted, nose skimming against the sensitive skin under her earlobe. Meg's breath broke. She tipped her head, giving him better access. His hand brushed up and down over ribs and back, spreading easy, warm pleasure. She shifted, feeling along muscled arms, smoothing her fingers over elastic flesh stretched taut across planes of muscle.

"You know," she said, then stopped to kiss golden skin, nipping gently at his neck before tonguing the mark. He tasted like salt and musk and something she could only describe as masculine warmth. "I've never liked long hair on men before."

"You're suggesting I cut it?" Santiago asked, amusement in his voice.

"God, no," Meg said swiftly. She ran her hands across his collarbones, down the front of his chest, felt him shiver when she dragged her nails over a perfectly muscled torso. "It makes you look a little wild."

"You like wild," Santiago murmured, the words not quite a question. Meg looked up and saw teeth, white and gold in the firelight, as he grinned.

"I love wild," Meg admitted on a sigh. It had gotten her in more than a little trouble at times.

His voice dropped to a purr, the words felt as much as heard. "I'm good at wild."

Meg shivered. "I just bet." Wherever he touched her felt hot, liquid fire sizzling along her skin. And he seemed to touch her _everywhere. _

* * *

After all, what's the point of fanfic if not to pimp, right? Right. ;-D

J


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